


Heart in a Headlock

by SweetAndSharp



Series: Sociomega [2]
Category: Fandompalooza!, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Academia, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College, Comedy, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Just playing around, Knotting, M/M, Mystery, Omega Verse, Other, Romance, Slice of Life, Social Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:20:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 287,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetAndSharp/pseuds/SweetAndSharp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Merlin Emrys is happy with his life, his career and his research, and not resembling the dewy eyed, spread legged omegas on the cover of Playstud, thank you.</p><p>Until the Irony Gods start to mess with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Distant Flickering

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to play in the omegaverse sandbox. So I did. And for those of you who are like SCORE, KNOTTING PORN....maybe eventually, but this is so not just fun smut. It's boring and a little slow. It's me skipping around an omegaverse I would find mildly feasible.
> 
> Some of this is really self indulgent, honestly. When you come to a lecture in the latter half it really has no bearing on the story, other than I found it interesting and just...accidentally wrote all of it. You can skip it with not much of an impact.
> 
> An yes, spot how many fandoms I surreptitiously stuck in there. Work title and chapter titles come from the marvelous Imogen Heap song Headlock.
> 
> And a huge huge thank you to Wanderlust48 and Rachel!!! They very nicely beta'd this monster.

**Heart in a Headlock**

**Chapter One: Distant Flickering**

 

As retirement parties for heads of department went, Finna McPhearson's sending off do was designed by the admin to fly under the radar and underwhelm the attendees. Odd time, badly publicized, frankly embarrassing super-market food, and it was being held in one of the small staff lounges- the one that smelled faintly of overcooked cabbage. Not at all the thing for someone who had been on staff for forty years.

It might have succeeded, Finna departing unnoticed, until the number of people wanting to be a part of wishing Finna farewell swelled so that a slightly larger conference room had to be commandeered, and then the ghost was given up and the big party took over an auditorium.

Vivian Thorpe had not been happy about the gate crashers, the abandoning of her streamers, or the sudden and mysterious arrival of the sushi platters, the ten foot sandwich, the floral fruit arrangements and the enormous cake. Vivian Thorpe was Olaf Thorpe's daughter, and being that Ol' Olaf was the President of Albion University it was not surprising she had wrangled her way into an administrative post. Or been given one because her narcissism overshadowed her intellect to such a degree that the former made the latter difficult to detect. Whichever.

Merlin was fairly certain it had been Olaf's order to make sure the retirement went as quietly as it could. Finna was forever challenging him head first, legal statues in one hand, meticulously document research in the other, and Merlin had never known her to back down, whether in a private or public. Vivian's party planning reflected the quiet hope that Olaf could get rid of Finna with as little fuss as possible. The initial accumulated guests were members of Finna's department and the women from the library, but nearly no one else.

However. Olaf had once again under estimated how liked Finna was. The swells of people pouring in gratified Merlin, and if someone had posted something on Facebook to be sure the day was marked, well, Merlin wasn't telling whom. Instead he watched staff from all across the campus, professors and administrators alike, pour in with hugs, well wishes, and small gifts. There were current students and former students, community liaisons, other members of her field, representatives from the programs Finna gave time to, members of the district, hell, even one of the textbook reps who had enjoyed working with Finna.

Merlin stood in a corner with Gwen Smith (Pediatric Physician and Clinical Professor of Medicine for Mercia College) and Freya Bast (an Assistant Professor in Art for Gawant College ). Though they came from different departments, or a different college in Freya's case, Finna had such a warm, obliging way about her that it was hard not to take her advice and her oatmeal raisin cookies. Freya and Gwen were in positions to take both, since Merlin's office was in Gedref Hall, midway between theirs, and so it had become the meeting ground for the three of them. Finna's office was in the same building, a floor up from Merlin's. Had been. Despite himself, seeing her potted plants, her silly mementos from past students and her pictures leave in boxes over the past week had made Merlin feel rather dismal.

Currently, Finna was talking to Olaf Thorpe's secretary, since the man himself had been unavailable. Around her were people waiting to cycle in to speak to her, the room bustling with activity. The woman of the hour was quite in demand.

Merlin, Gwen and Freya had scored a corner and were watching Vivian apparently recovering from her miff by flirting with Finna's replacement, who had been hired from Gaul University. Cenred Ellis was a slightly slimy looking malpha. He and Vivian were standing very close together by the impromptu snack table now quite laden with donations brought by party goers.

Since Merlin had some misplaced anger at Cenred who had been hired for a job that should have been Professor Alice Abernathy's if not for Olaf's barely constrained prejudices and preferential treatment, he wasn't sure he could have found it in himself to sympathize with Cenred for catching Vivian's attention on principal. That Cenred returned the interest absolved Merlin of any guilt he had about not liking Cenred from the outset.

“I saw her in the bathroom. She's bought some of that hideous 'Enchanted' perfume.” Gwen said in a voice that suggested she despaired of decency. “She was dousing herself in it. _Everywhere_.”

Merlin recoiled at the thought of that, though it only cut Cenred the tiniest bit of slack. “Everywhere?” he said. “Even...” He made a nebulous southern gesture.

“Everywhere.” Gwen affirmed.

“In the staff bathroom? Vivian was hiking up her skirt to spray that stuff on her junk in the bathroom I frequent in order to go fishing at a retirement party? I know as a psychologist and mature adult I should judge her not, but I think I'm worried about cooties. How long d'you think they linger? 24 hours?”

Freya looked up at Gwen uncertainly. “What perfume?” The soft-spoken Freya often had a tenuous connection to reality outside her canvases and her classes.

Gwen tucked a few corkscrews of dark hair behind an ear. “You've missed the advertisements for it? It's this fancy perfume by Blessed Cosmetics. That beauty queen Suzanne Sugarbaker does the commercials, with all the blowing curtains.”

“Perfume with omega heat pheromones in it.” Merlin supplied. “Two thousand dollars a bottle. Insulting and degrading. And now apparently swamping the unisexed staff bathroom. I pity any unsuspecting malpha who goes in there and has to pee with an erection.”

Freya frowned at the way Cenred shuffled closer to Vivian with that light in his eyes that alphas could never quite muster for a beta. Even though plenty of alphas and betas made perfectly content couples, Merlin was not here to undermine any pairings people chose to make. However, he would also be foolish if he denied that biology was a vicious mistress, and Cenred was probably being powered more by the pheromones than any honest attraction.

“Isn't that rather like a cat rolling itself in dog urine and calling itself a Shih-tzu?” Freya asked airily, tilting her head.

“If you want to call your chemical secretions urine, I suppose.” Merlin said.

They watched Vivian back up in small increments, an empowered look in her face as Cenred followed her, dragged on by his own biology he was rather failing to keep in check.

“Still,” Gwen said, swirling a carrot stick through a lump of dip. “He's not plugging his nose and dashing the other way. Or even attempting to overcome. There's no hope he's going to be decent.”

“Olaf hired him.” Merlin glumly informed them. Personal hires by Olaf, especially such enthusiastic ones, were never a rousing endorsement for the hiree.

Both the women made faint commiserating noises acknowledging the magnitude of that misfortune and a little bit of relief that they weren't going to have to work under Cenred. Gwen was a single betafem, and Freya an unbonded femega, and to an alpha like Cenred there was no doubt there would be some butt pinching and requests to fetch coffee. So too for Merlin if not for the veil he lived behind.

Merlin had the advantage of over a decade on Culofactozine, which kept his sexugender a particularly secure secret. He knew it was a wild topic of speculation amongst the staff, and his chosen field of Sexuality and Dynamic Studies made him very hard to pin down. Along with his roulette bathroom use. Unisex/Handicapped as often as possible, but those had only come into vogue the last twenty years or so and many buildings didn't have them. Mostly he was left with the choice of A/BM, OM/T or BF/OF/C. He mixed them up, showing neither aversion nor partiality. Nobody was going to out him in the necessity of urination.

That and Human Resource departments were learning by a series of vicious FERPA lawsuits that any breach of confidential information was firmly, incredibly illegal. No matter how many whiny letters Kara from the English department wrote about him being a degenerate. He went, he peed, he left. It wasn't like he'd been peeping over stalls or loitering around the dryers.

Vivian seemed to think that she'd lead Cenred on enough of a merry chase around the snack table. They now stood very close, Vivian looking demurely up through her lashes at him, in full view of all the other attendees. Not that anyone else appeared to be noticing, but seeing as Merlin, Gwen and Freya had been at the party since it started in the small lounge three hours ago, their attention was understandably waning.

The skin between Freya's eyebrows puckered. “He's going to be very disappointed...” Her voice was soft, almost concerned.

“He' picking up the daughter of the uber alpha who hired him at the retirement party of the beta he's replacing. It's safe to say he deserves whatever he gets. He's probably married.”

Gwen added “Probably married _and_ bonded. He looks like the kind of malpha who wants total control over his spouse while doing exactly what he wants. I'll bet he married and bonded his high school sweetheart before ze set foot in the outside world. Now he cheats on zer.” She tossed her carrot back down on her plate, then toddled over to the rubbish bin to discard the entire thing, apparently having lost her appetite.

“I bet he padlocks the fridge so ze doesn't gain weight.” Gwen said when she returned.

“Committing infidelity to a bondmate is the worst of sins.” Freya shook her head. Any sympathy she had for Cenred's assumed disappointment with what he found between Vivian's legs was gone.

“Don't even get me started. I don't believe in sin, but if you're a/o and lucky enough to find a compatible mate how could you betray them? Especially this publicly?” Gwen said.

“He might not be bonded or married...” Freya offered, but even she didn't sound convinced, even if she was trying to think the best of Cenred.

Merlin pointed and said. “He's got a wedding ring. Gwen, you go in and check his neck for a bondbite.”

“I'd have to get within smelling range. No thank you.” Gwen made a disgusted face that soon dissolved into laughter she attempted to smother. “Our place of work is looking distressingly like a TV show.”

“I eagerly await the musical episode.” Merlin said, raising his glass of punch in a salute. “Dibs on the humorous duet. Gwen, you get the power ballad.”

Gwen sighed, shaking her head sadly.“With the way my romantic life is going it would be 'On My Own' from Les Mis.”

“Good. Mine was going to be 'The Internet is for Porn'.” Merlin said.

“I see you more as 'Don't Want to Fall in Love' from Wonderland.”

“I have never even heard of that one. What about Freya?” Merlin said.

“'Where Is Love?' from Oliver?”

“'A Cockeyed Optimist?'”

“No. Wait. Matchmaker. Fiddler on the Roof.”

“And Vivian gets 'I Cain't Say No'.”

They lapsed into quiet for a few moments after a successful summation of their love lives through Broadway song, a look exchanging their mutual understanding that neither would speak of either how ridiculous or borderline nutso it was.

Freya didn't seem to notice.

“Maybe we should move lunch to my building?” Gwen suggested. “I don't like the idea of him skulking about while we're chatting.”

“Too far for Freya.” Merlin said.

“I don't mind coming across campus,” Freya volunteered. “I have my bike.”

“Still, “ Merlin sighed.

They all watched while Cenred leaned in, trying to be subtle about sniffing Vivian. Merlin could see his erection through his slacks. Not just an alpha, but a malpha. No surprise. Olaf didn't like to stint himself in prejudices. Alphas over Beta or Omegas, but Malphas over Femalphas, as if it made that much of a difference. It wasn't like the job called for the use of a malpha penis or even alphas at all, they were teachers for heaven's sake. Why did Olaf think his staff needed to be armed with big thick cock?

Gwen squirmed. “Let's go. I don't want to smell that. Or see it. Or know it.”

“Too late.” Merlin said as they all watched Vivian palm Cenred.

He and Gwen recoiled to muted sounds of disgust. Freya had more sense and had long since averted her eyes from the scene entirely. Gwen and Freya were dispatched to fetch their coats while Merlin sought out Finna. He found her talking to Professor Anhora and waited for a pause in their conversation to touch her sleeve.

“Hold that thought,” Finna said to Anhora and she turned to Merlin. They stepped out of earshot of the other professor.

“Had enough, have you?” she asked, eyes tracing over the mass of people drinking and raiding the food before moving back to Merlin.

“Yeah.” Merlin flashed her a smile, his eyes darting to Gwen and Freya who stood by the door, ready in record time. Finna's eyes had followed the sharp motion, and the two women saw them looking and waved. They'd already exchanged more sentimental goodbyes, and Merlin seriously doubted it would be the last time they saw Finna.

Finna wiggled her fingers back. “I must say, this will turn Olaf in his Italian loafers.” Finna grinned and cast Merlin a glance. “Whoever got word around did a bang up job. Got any idea who that might have been?”

Merlin made an innocent face and raised his palms.

“I thought as much,” Finna said.

Vivian's proudly proclaimed home-made play list flicked to 'Careless Whisper'.

Finna rolled her eyes. “Saints preserve us.”

Merlin muffled a laugh.

“We're still on for Sunday tea, yes?” Finna said.

“If you're still willing.”

“I've had enough of this place, Merlin, not with using my brain and certainly not with you,” She said, and he saw her eyes rest briefly on Cenred before he slipped out the door, presumably after Vivian. “I might have gone five years ago, had you not galloped onto the staff to keep me occupied.”

She turned to him with a bright smile and Merlin was struck by how much he was going to miss her. Cunning Finna with her iron hair and iron will. Sharp as diamond shards and warm as honey. She went a long way to protect her department, to fight for proper education, keeping the materials unbiased and the professors unharried. She'd been a shield, a mentor, a friend, but she'd had enough of the pitting, of the strikes. He couldn't blame her. The swell of conservatism in recent years and the board of trustees bend towards such values had those who studied the mind and the movements of people in their sights. It had been gently suggested to Merlin that his current research in blockers was 'not his business' and 'unnecessary with new birth control legislation pending'. As if the proposed bills currently incensing fecundists and liberals were a foregone conclusion.

“It won't be the same without you.” Merlin said softly.

Finna pulled a smile, but it was forced around the corners. “Come Sunday. We'll talk, lamb. Oh dear...here comes Drea.”

“Oh Professor! You can't go!” Finna caught an armful of sobbing Drea from the library.

Merlin mouthed 'I'll see you Sunday' and Finna smiled, making a shooing gesture behind Drea's back.

ᴥ

 _Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

_Subject: Chandler, Catherine_

_Sexugender./Physiogender: Femega/Female._

_Orientation: Heterosexual_

_Marital Status: Single, Unbonded._

_Not that my father would ever admit it...but I think he was expecting an alpha. Someone to carry on his firm for him, the proud tradition. I don't mean he didn't or doesn't love me, he does. He's proud, too, I think. Proud I made it through law school, proud of so many of my accomplishments- less so that I work for the DA's instead of with him, but he understands. He even understands why I've chosen not to get married._

_“I originally went on a blocker regimen to help me get through school. Going into heat can mess up your semester, make you miss classes, draw attention. Actually, most omegas in college are on blockers. If they're spending the money to go it means they want to be educated. At least, that was the majority of omegas I knew. Then, after school?...Well. As an attorney it helps to be strong. To appear strong, and to smell like omega is to smell like prey. But in a courtroom, it's best to smell neutral. Even for the alphas. Too many pheromones in one small room and things tend to get unpleasant very quickly. It's why judges are betas, and the splashiest attorneys are always very public alphas who are on blockers. Even without the smell, they have that energy, the juice. But being an alpha doesn't make you the best. Being smart does._

_Being an omega in the profession of law is hard. I have to be twice as smart, I have to work longer, and I have to practice to be as cut-throat as they. It's not perfect, people still do and say things, still assume because of what I am I'll yield...but it's a work in progress. Sixty years ago breeders couldn't even get into law school. Now here I am. It's worth fighting for._

ᴥ

The following Sunday Merlin arrived at Finna's 1950's Calypso pink bungalow with his own retirement present.

“A Mr. Lincoln! Well done, Emrys!” Finna said warmly of the rose bush he had born with him to her front door. “I'll get my gear.”

Merlin laughed in agreement, setting down the rose for her to fuss after. When she returned with gardening basket in tow she tossed him a pair of gloves.

“Make yourself useful and come start the hole for me. Just there, yes- don't get yourself all mucky though.”

He'd worn junky clothes with just this suspicion in mind, and so Merlin didn't mind selecting a shovel before stabbing it into the dirt.

“Thank you for the send off, Merlin. It was one to remember.” Finna said as she worked on unpotting the bush.

“So many people love you, you should have rethought going.” Merlin said. The shovel was unfamiliar in his hands, but he took direction well, making a nice round hole and a mound of dirt to the side.

Finna shook her head. “No, no. It was time. I'm done with fighting other people's battles. It was time for a change. Now I want to tend my garden, catch up with my reading and meddle. I'll still guest speak, of course, and act as a consultant. But Albion U is not what it was, Merlin. I can't tell how how wonderful things were when Fisher was still alive.”

She already had. Merlin had listened to many stories of the university's beginnings and enjoyed them all. He was especially fond of the tales of the gryphon races in the sixties, when you had to build some sort of gryphon shaped device equipped for one 'rider' and race the participants. A rider who was, in one memorable case, a white lab rat in a leather aviator cap in a remote controlled gryphon shaped plane. In the sixties and the seventies things had been much more lax, much more non-litigious, and much more fun, it often seemed.

“A little deeper, yes, that's it. We'll make a gardener of you yet. Are you ready to go back to work without me?”

“Honestly? No.” Merlin said. “I know how much you were doing day to day. I'm a little scared to go back, knowing what is waiting. At your party, before it moved to the auditorium I got cornered by one of the board members, asked about my study and my grant. He was trying to hide his disapproval and not doing a very good job.”

“Disapproval for the subject matter?” Finna clarified.

“Yes. Apparently all forms of hormonal suppressants are a sin against God; hiding what you truly are, and inquiring about them is being gauche and nosy. I'm not popular, but I got the grant and I'll be published, so it's not as if they can fire me for having different beliefs. Still.” He shrugged.

They planted the rose bush, Finna doing a number of mysterious things to the soil, then having Merlin work the bush out of the pot. He held it in while she filled the space with dirt until it was freestanding. When all was done, Finna fed it from a watering can and they sat on the porch, sipping iced tea.

“I have some good news for you,” Finna said after a time spent in quiet.

Merlin raised his brows in question.

Finna smiled. “I'd hoped to have confirmation when you got the grant, but it took a bit longer to get her to agree; but I found for you a theta, living on blockers for your study.”

Merlin's mouth dropped open in shock. Excitement zinged through him, banging around his insides like a lightning bug in a jar. He set his glass down before he dropped it. “A theta?”

“Yes. Close your mouth dear.”

Merlin closed his mouth, but still stared at Finna wide-eyed. “How?”

“Well, when you told me you were going to look into this, I let a few colleagues know I was looking for something special, if they knew of anyone on blockers who might like to participate in a fully confidential study. It took some time, but a friend in New York spoke to one of his clients, and she's agreed, providing it is strictly confidential. A living and unaltered theta will put a nice feather in your cap.” Finna said.

“Of course! Oh, Jesus, Finna, thank you!” Merlin could hardly breathe for the opportunity to speak with a theta. While not as rare as Chi or Mu, Thetas only made up about 3.5% of the total population, and the three aberrant genders accounting for 4% total, providing they made it to adulthood. While this was increasing more with modern medicine (and third world countries no longer drowning their genderless Mu children or selling their Chi children for exorbitant prices into effective broodmare slavery.) it was still terribly rare to encounter them.

When Merlin had resumed his seat after dashing on direction from Finna for the business card resting innocuously on the crocheted doily atop the piano, grinning like a loon, Finna added, “Though my motives are not totally benevolent.” she shot Merlin a wink. “I sort of wanted to stick it to those gender narrow prigs on the board.”

“And you're sticking it to them giving me a valuable research subject. I'm afraid I must decry you as very slightly vindictive. Still though. Thetafem or Thetamale?” Merlin looked down at the card. Dr. Sal Aglain. Psychiatrist. Email, telephone and address.

“Thetafem, although that's about all I know. She's very private, but I gather that's more because of dealing with the public, and not because of deep seated personal issues with her sexugender.”

He placed the business card into his wallet. “ Finna, I can't thank you enough. No one would argue how difficult it is being Alpha or Omega, but for the AG's...well, it's an entirely different level of complexity. Maybe I can even pitch some further studies to her.” His mind was already racing with the possibilities.

“You'll have to call Dr. Aglain, won't you?”

ᴥ

Merlin finished finalizing his grades and closed out the school year without much fanfare and prepared to devote himself to research. He'd gotten the grant to conduct his study on suppressants and motivation for their use from a pharmaceutical company, Mortaeus Laboratories. The grant was hard won. It seemed like he'd spent an eternity writing proposal paperwork for it, and then another waiting for the outcome.

He planned to spend all the summer in pursuit of data, moving through many of the country's major cities with two graduate students he had for half of June, and all of July and August.

Freya was off to Italy to an Omega artistic retreat. She'd been subtle about her hints that she'd like Merlin to join her for a time, but the brochures with pictures of people painting, sculpting and getting in touch with their inner omega were an active turn off to him. Merlin was just fine without his inner knot-slut calling the shots, thank you. He couldn't imagine one of the hippie looking instructors being pleased about his years on blockers, either. They'd probably recommend a round of colonics and self flagellation with rolled up copies of Good Housekeeping.

He was also rubbish at art.

Thankfully, the retreat was ridiculously expensive, and he could decline on a financial basis. He suspected Freya's parents were footing the bill for her, which was another detraction. While wealthy, they were extraordinarily religious in the keep-your-breeders-pregnant-and-barefoot way. Anything they approved of was likely not to bode well for Merlin's fecundist egalitarian world view.

Freya's rebellion of leaving the church and being educated was tolerated, if barely, soothed over by her acquiescence to frequent seon. Not that they often went well. Freya, while blithe and sweet, was far from biddable and she was never interested in the strict and old fashioned men who were selected for her, and Merlin continued to wonder why Freya's parents bothered with seons if they were going to keep misrepresenting their daughter to the families of prospective alphas.

And seons, in Merlin's opinion, were little more than attempts to keep money from moving out of the upper class by bonding omegas to other alphas in the same social circle instead of relying on nature, which had a perfectly good handle on things, thank you. There was also the side benefit of controlling every iota of the omega's life. Which he didn't truck with either.

Still, he and Gwen took her to the airport and saw her well off to Europe. There was a stopover in Paris planned, and Gwen had laughingly made Freya promise to bring her back a French betamale in her suitcase. She tried to get one for Merlin too, though he declined, even if he had been fantasizing about French farming towns and the Arc d Triomphe, history, art and culture and kissing someone under the lights of Paris.

What he did do, instead of something impractical as reckless fornicating with strange foreign alphas, was collect interviews and surveys of socially valuable nature. He and his small team, using a collage campus where Merlin had a friend or colleague as a hub from, crossed the US giving interviews, widening Merlin's pool of data. He wished he had more, but getting blocker users to speak, especially ones who went on the drugs precisely for the anonymity they offered, was difficult. Even with the various wavers and other paperwork detailing confidentiality.

 

He'd spoken to Dr. Aglain, and found out that his and the mysterious thetafem's schedules clashed quite spectacularly, and he was forced to set an appointment in late September. It was just as well, though. It gave him time to do some reading on Thetas and prepare a more personalized and expanded set of questions in the hope she would be amenable to offering her insights. He prayed she was. Previous studies on thetas were thin on the ground, he was finding. Indeed, a majority of them related to the aftermath of the outdated, barbaric and misguided notion that a theta's alpha cock should be severed soon after birth, and the theta should be raised to live as an omega. Conventional wisdom at the time rationalized that since thetas lacked all other alpha systems achieving a normal alpha existence would be nigh impossible. Therefore, thetas were pigeon holed into being omegas. Fascinating, if slightly stomach turning reading. Merlin did not look at the pictures. Unsurprisingly, most of the altered thetas suffered a variety of emotional problems, not the least of which was knowing what they weren't while outside forces tried to force them to be just that.

Though awful, it made Merlin's anticipation for conducting his own interview with an unaltered theta all the sharper.

So the summer passed in a haze of interviews, beautiful postcards from Freya and motel rooms. The first two were grand, the latter something of a trial. Being in so many strange beds gave Merlin unsettled dreams. As August came to a close though he had dozens of interviews with which to work with. Merlin retreated home feeling both successful and sated. He'd loved the search. It was like a quest for truth.

Gwen had spent the summer offering her services pro bono at various shelters and centers, and 'lazing around in decadent abandon' as she called it, which for Gwen meant she'd also worked with Habitat for Humanity, did her annual cleaning of her father's home and generally gave time and love wherever it was needed including packing off care packages to her brother Elyan, who volunteered with and was forever being packed off to exotic locales where there were no oreos. It also meant babysitting her neighbors kids, since Gwen's biological clock was going off loud enough for even Merlin to hear.

That no-one had seen what a sterling and remarkable woman Gwen was amazed Merlin on many levels, though on others he understood that she was a intimidating force for good. Asking her out would mean taking time away from her quiet crusade to make the world better. Why would she go eat pasta when she could spend an evening knitting a blanket for someone in need in Africa?

Freya had returned from Italy glowing with some inner serenity Merlin attributed more to her soft nature than any retreat. She had made good her promise, and had brought home the most sinful three pounds of chocolate on the planet, which the trio did a fair job of devouring in a End of Summer party at Gwen's apartment.

Thankfully Freya had left all the Frenchmen in France, and was fat with stories of the great places she'd been. Merlin underscored Europe on his mental bucket list while flipping through the sketchbook she'd taken with her. Freya always took sketchbooks with her when she traveled, preferring drawings to cameras, so he and Gwen moved through pages with rustic Italian hill towns in pastel and the sights of Paris in charcoals, rushed pencil and pen images of people, both earthy and glamorous. They drank and ate, and bitched about the oncoming year.

Their togetherness without the mess of significant others was soothing. Merlin dreaded the day Freya would be bundled off to a gilded cage to breed for a few decades and Gwen would wed another doctor and they'd elope to Doctors Without Borders and he'd be on his own. He knew there was a certain inevitability to it, but still, he savored evenings like these with no calls upon their time except what they themselves mandated.

ᴥ

 _Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

_Subject: McCunoval, Esca_

_Sexugender./Physiogender: Malpha/Male_

_Orientation: Homosexual_

_Marital Status: Committed Monogamous Relationship, unbonded._

_I told you he was army, yeah? So, he's deployed again, overseas. Here's his picture. He's been on suppressants since he joined at eighteen. Anyway. When he went...I just didn't want even the remotest chance I would make a mistake. He'll be gone another year, two since I've seen him- he got leave last year, we were going to meet in London so I could visit home, but it turned out to be during finals week last year. I couldn't go._

_I owe him, in a way. When we met, he pulled me out of a bad scrape, and now we're...it's delicate. We're supposed to be competition, enemies, two malphas together is the height of taboo. Instead we're something else. We barely understand what we are, how to deal with it, how to live with each other, and yet there's also half the world who loathes us for being gay. It takes extra work._

_He'd understand, if I got caught in an omega heat. He'd accept and understand because he's been there. But I don't want to give him that to bear on top of everything else. It's just him and me. He needs to know it, believe that he's enough, that he's all I want. He would understand it, if it happened, but I don't want him to have to. So I went on Blockers too. For him. For us._

 

ᴥ

Merlin started winter semester with the promise to himself he wasn't going to be depressed about Finna, he was going to give Cenred a chance and he was going to enrich and inspire young people.

With that in mind, he started with one of his favorite introductions for his first freshman class of the year. After he welcomed the lecture hall full of students for his Sociology of Gender class, ironed out his expectations and gave them all a syllabus, he ran a power point presentation for his Guess My Sexugender game. There were fifteen slides, each with a vid clip of a subject standing for ten seconds, and then taking a seat for a further ten. In pen, the students were make guesses on the sexugender of each subject. They went through all the slides, then Merlin restarted the show, pausing after each one to gather the responses.

He'd updated the slides this summer between everything else he'd done, and added the clip his childhood friend Will had submitted when Merlin had made the requisite stop in his home town to see his mother and Will over the summer. He could hardly cross the continent and not make a stop at his childhood home. Well, not without being guilty for the rest of his life.

Will's vid had him standing, relaxed, thumbs in his belt loop, then sitting with his legs open. Merlin had filmed it for a lark in trying to explain what he taught to Will.

“Now, this one, Subject 8. Hands up for omega. Not many takers. Alpha? Okay, few more of you, so the rest of you think beta? Yes. You-” Merlin pointed to a student with her hand up. “Hello. Why don't you tell us your name and why do you think this man is a beta?”

Her eyes darted around as if someone would save her. “I'm Sarah Conner.” She shrugged. “And...well...he isn't outstanding in any way.”

“Equating beta to being average in physical attractiveness and build?”

Sarah nodded tentatively.

“Interesting. You- yes, with the green coat. You had your hand up for alpha. Why?”

The young man pointed to the vid of Will still cycling through. “Mordred Vlahos. I think he is alpha because of the way he holds himself, the way he moves. His posture is straight, his hands are relaxed. When he sits, he doesn't rearrange his legs, and they're open.”

Merlin nodded. “Mordred. Good eye for body language. So you must also think number 9 is an alpha too?” He tapped a key on his laptop, bringing up the next slide with Subject 9 who was actually Elizabeth Bellamy from the crisis hotline Merlin donated time to. He looked at the green-coated Mordred expectantly as he reviewed his notes.

“Ah- yes sir. Femalpha. She has the same physical confidence. Legs open when she sits.”

Merlin nodded, hopping down the carpeted steps and looking over the sea of faces turned at him. “How many of you selected the same orientation, whatever that may be, for Subjects 8 and 9?”

Most of the hands went up.

“Ah. Good observations on mannerism. However, it might surprise you to learn that subject 8 is an alpha- good job, Mordred- but...Subject 9 is a beta. Hands up who got it correct?”

He surveyed. “What can we conclude from this? Yes, Mordred?”

The dark haired boy rolled his pencil, watching Merlin. “You're trying to show us that independent traits commonly associated with a specific sexugender are not their exclusive purview.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. But the test is flawed.” Mordred was staring at Merlin.

Merlin's brows rose. This was the first time anyone had spoken out against it, and the chutzspah to speak out in conflict with the teacher had focused the energy of the room quite neatly.

“How do you find it flawed?” he said.

“These are visual renditions, and are incomplete data. There is no smell.” Mordred was still rolling his pencil.

“Ah. So everyone you will ever meet or need to make judgments about will be in range of your nose, then? And won't have altered their smell with Blockers. You place olfactory knowledge above that of visual or deductive?”

“No...but if we're going to get it right-”

“But there is no right.”

“But I thought the beta was an alpha. I got it wrong.”

“That depends on your perspective. Remember your Shakespeare; 'What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet'. Whether subject 8 is alpha or a beta or an omega, which is it more important to know? His sexugender and the perceived traits therein, or his actual capacities?” Merlin addressed the question to the room.

There was quiet until a red haired girl raised her hand.

“Willow Rosenburg. I think it depends on the situation, which piece of information is more important. In an emergency, being able to tell he's in control and confident might be good...but it's also important to know sexugender in situations were some imperatives of gender can interfere.”

Mordred nodded and said “But, still; it is important to know. If this were real, I'd have been giving a beta the deference and respect due an alpha.”

Merlin resisted raising his brows at Mordred's words and all the implications of a alpharchal upbringing.

He flicked his gaze to Willow. She pursed her lips as if she were pained to point out her following statement. “But those aren't necessarily the values of everyone, the alpha deference.”

“That does not mean they're right.” Mordred shot back at Willow.

Merlin interrupted. “That is an interesting can of worms, but I think it's best saved for future lectures, possibly when we talk about social interaction in a few weeks. Right, moving on to subject 10...”

It didn't matter how far the world had come, and this crop of students did no better than the last crop, averaging at a 60% accuracy. They still thought the tallest, bulkiest man was an alpha, and the fragile woman with nervous hands an omega. And, of course, they always got Subject 17, whose stylish trousers were cut to show off what he was precisely. Still, he'd planted a few seeds, made them question their preset notion that confidence along with most other strength traits were alpha, and all emotional and nervous traits were omega, with betas lost in a non-descript no-man's land.

There were some bright minds, though, and often they splintered into some interesting discussions, often spearheaded by Mordred Vlahos and Willow Rosenburg. Mordred was a mix of eager-to-please and also attempting to unhorse Merlin, his sharp blue eyes following him like lasers as he moved around the room. Willow often countered with more earthy, practical approaches.

Towards the end Merlin saw Cenred lurking in the back of the room, pacing and listening. When the students filed out and Merlin began to dismantle his laptop, he caught Cenred sniffing them as they went by. When the last had filed out Cenred came down the steps, smiling, hands tucked in his pockets.

“Interesting introduction to your course, Professor Emrys. That beta kid was sure at your balls. You might want to pull him aside and talk about trying to bully you.”

Merlin flashed a polite smile. “Gets them thinking. Appearances can be deceiving. If you mean Mordred, he wasn't bullying me.”

“Mmn.” Cenred's eyes were sketching up and down Merlin in a way that made him feel like beetles were scuttling up and down his arms. “Still, a brief talk. He shouldn't be defending the respect due an alpha while trying to emulate the behavior of one.”

Merlin pretended he was wrapping his laptop cord around Cenred's throat instead of the transformer box. “I'm not afraid of him and it's not my job to modulate the behavior of a student outside of a general respect. He's challenging his instructors, some of the young, cocky ones do, especially if they've bought into a blind hierarchical structure contrary to one based on sexugender they've been raised with, as he has.”

“I can see this is a passionate subject for you.” The corners of Cenred's lips curved into a smile.

“Yes.”

“I enjoy working with passionate people. People like you. People with passion you can taste.”

“Uh, thanks.” Merlin clipped his bag shut.

“I know you worked very closer with Professor McPhearson. I hope we can be equally close.”

Not ever. Not even after Merlin took away Cenred's _Guide to Sounding Like a Creeper_ and burned it. “I'm sure we will share the regard most colleagues hold each other in.”

Cenred only carried on looking at him.

“...Do you need anything, Professor Ellis?”

“Yes, actually. I stopped by to let you know you've been appointed to the Study Abroad Committee. You'll find the coinciding email in your inbox. Congratulations.”

Merlin paused packing his things and turned to face Cenred fully. “But I've been serving on the Academic Council for years. I was under the impression we were an effective group.” There hadn't been complaints, that he was sure of.

Cenred gave a shrug. “I'm sorry, it came from above, I'm just letting you know of the decision.”

Merlin tried not to glare as Cenred gave him one last sticky look and departed.

 

ᴥ

“He has no idea how to treat a human being outside of their sexugender.” Merlin grumbled over his wineglass at Gwen's.

Of course once term got underway it became very clear that Cenred was just the ass Merlin had suspected he was. He didn't mentor or assist so much as lurk in the back of classrooms and put the other professor's backs up with vaguely worded insinuations about the content and manner of their lectures. At department meetings Sefa Rundle, a tenured professor and bonded omega, was somehow always asked to get the coffee or run to make copies if print outs ran short. If femalpha Eli James was late, or spoke out of turn it was alright, but if any of the other largely beta staff made the same trespasses they could expect a chastisement. The slant was slight, but present. It was useless to report it. Anything so mild wouldn't be taken seriously, especially in this administration, and Merlin knew from experience that the board would even scoff at a room full of respected scholars, telling them they were over sensitive.

While Cenred was unpleasant, condescending and a dozen other unsavory things, he never crossed that line, never broke the rules. Slippery as a greased piglet.

He'd begun clearly with the notion Merlin was an omega, and so let vaguely insinuating statements drip from his lips (and attempted the coffee stunt, expect Merlin flatly refused whereas Sefa just fetched it to avoid a conflict) until Merlin made a few remarks to haze up the matter of his sexugender. Cenred's retreat came with gobs of suspicion as he transferred to a re-analyzing stage, attempting to draw Merlin out in occasional conversations with embarrassing fumbled attempts to learn Merlin's sexugender.

It just never passed over into being egregious enough to file a complaint. So Cenred toed the line, and Merlin went to Gwen's to vent his spleen.

Gwen's bungalow was worrisomely tidy and perfectly decorated with all the fussy touches of someone who consumed home decor magazines by the gross. When she found the time, Merlin would never know. His apartment was always a mess of take-out cartons, dirty socks and masses of reference material, not to mention the fine sediment of dust. Gwen taught students, built houses, doctored the homeless, tended her father, sent care packages to her abroad brother and reupholstered her own furniture.

Frankly, it was terrifying.

“If you start talking about Betaland again you'll be asked to leave.” Gwen said grumpily.

Merlin huffed out a breath. He didn't dare switch the topic to Gwen's day. The bottle of red wine had been broken out when she told him she'd had to diagnose a seven year old girl with HIV at one of the free clinics today. It explained why she'd invited him over. When Gwen was sad she cooked her upset away. Merlin was old fashioned in that he opened bottles or repressed. Not that he recommended either of those methods professionally.

“Got my first Study Abroad meeting tomorrow.”

“Study Abroad? I thought you were on the Academic Council committee last year?” Gwen frowned into her wine glass.

“I was. And I have been for years. I've been relegated to this new committee by some power on high.” Merlin stabbed his vegetable lasagne viciously, which was a pity since Gwen's home cooking was wonderful. She'd made vegetable lasagne, garlic bread and a pecan pie.

He continued glumly. “It's probably some horrible scheme to get me to send all the promising, open-minded students out of the country where they daren't disturb the status quo.”

Gwen gave him a raised eyebrow which perfectly communicated her doubt. Merlin returned it by making a general 'oh shut up' face, and hacking off a corner of the lasagne with the side of his fork before stuffing it into his mouth.

“It could just be that Cenred wants to lighten your load. With classes and your study. The Academic Council did take a lot of time.” she offered.

Merlin made a snorting noise around his mouthful of food.

“Alright, so, yes, he's probably an incredible ass relegating you to a committee that has no bearing on how student affairs are run and it's all an enormous conspiracy, are you happy?”  
“Ecstatic.”

“You don't look it.”

Merlin swallowed and plastered a silly if insincere grin on his face, then downed the remainder of his wine.

Gwen frowned again as she refilled his glass, most of her food untouched. Once she'd set the bottle down she braced her elbow on the table, and her chin in her hand. Then she gave Merlin what he thought of as her Dr. Gwen look, a critical eyeing by a physician of a loved one. “Come to think it, you do look a bit tired. Is Cenred troubling you that much?”

Merlin blew out a sigh and shook his head. “No. Just...not sleeping well.”

Gwen raised her brows slightly, wordlessly encouraging him to carry on.

“I've not discovered some fascinating new sleep disorder, don't get excited. It's just stress, I think. Been having a lot of odd dreams.” Merlin said. “Much like you'll be having tonight.”

Gwen smiled wanly. “Not if I put away the rest of this bottle.”

“I don't really recommend that. I implore you, for the sake of your liver.”

It earned him a faint sound that was the weak and humorless cousin of a laugh.

Merlin asked hesitantly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Gwen shrugged, wineglass in hand. “It won't matter if I talk about it or not. When I wake up, that poor little thing will still have HIV and I'll still be the one that told her and her mother her life will never be the same. Short. Unfair.”

Merlin reached out to take Gwen's free hand. Her fingers were stiff at first, resisting, but at length she relented and grasped his fingers, staring ahead unseeing.

“Seven years old, Merlin. Seven.” Her voice was soft, pained.

“It's not fair.” Merlin agreed.

“No. It isn't.”

Merlin didn't let Gwen drink the entire bottle because he knew she'd regret it in the morning. He let her have two glasses, and after a while they sojourned to the couch for a cuddle, leaving the bottle behind. He held her and stroked her back while she cried for the little girl and her truncated future, mourned her own role in such unhappiness, and that with all her skills she couldn't make it better. She couldn't fix it.

When she dipped into a tipsy doze, her face smushed into Merlin's shoulder he drew her into her bedroom, helped her with her nightgown, murmured soft things to her while he pulled down the blankets and poured her into bed.

She caught his hand when he turned to leave her. “Stay...Please.”

Merlin lowered to perch on the bedside. “Shh, close your eyes. I'm not going anywhere.” He tucked her dark curls away from her face, stroked her cheek. She watched him for a time, but weariness overcame her, and at last her eyes lulled closed. Eventually there came her dainty little snores. Merlin remained sitting with her until he was sure she was deep asleep. Then he gently extracted his hand and exited, closing her door quietly behind him.

Their meal was mostly untouched. Merlin cleaned up, storing the left overs, then washed the dishes since he didn't want a sobbing Gwen scrubbing hardened tomato sauce in the morning on his conscience. While he scrubbed he thought of Cenred and Albion's board, of a little girl with HIV, and the hundreds of people he'd interviewed this summer who, for all the diverse and specific motivations they gave for going on blocking meds, really just wanted to escape an unfair system.

Which was what preliminary coalitions pointed towards. A distinct trend; people of all sexugenders had reasons to want to blend in. Aside from those with chemical imbalances, widows and widowers, the mentally unfit, and various other extreme cases where blockers were medically mandated, it was not only omegas hiding their sexuality in a search for harassment free lives. Alphas too were seeking anonymity. Anything from avoiding promotion and pressure people assumed they wanted, to numbing their sharp hungry instincts. Even more surprising were the growing numbers of betas wanting to be recognized for their skills and drive and knowing that without a scent they could be mistaken for anything.

The advertising firms were going to be thrown for a loop, seeing as they had yet to catch up with the publicly accepted reality that alphas and omegas used blockers equally. Stereotypical fragile and not terribly dressed omega models were still the faces of Culofactozine and it's variations like Anosmian and Limbria.

Merlin had spoken to alphas, betas and omegas across the US by the close of summer, in dozens of cities, listening to the life tales of these people. Their aspirations, their disappointments, their hopes and their convictions. The little fragments that made up the tapestry of life for all the sexugenders in their country in this age. It was so different from what came before, so elegantly complicated, and yet so elemental at the same time. How to live as an alpha. An omega. A beta. Or, a theta, chi or mu, for that matter.

When he returned to his own apartment he made a cup of tea. He then forced himself to read some of the research material for his study. He quickly discovered his mind chewed the information like sawdust, absorbing nothing, so he abandoned his papers on the dining table that nobody had dined at since he moved in, considering the piles of paper it was cloaked with.

He abandoned his tea soon after, and went to prepare for bed. As he climbed in to the cool and empty bed, his thoughts turned to Gwen. She'd looked tired and lonely, and while Merlin had done what he could, he recognized that what she really wanted was someone to hold her in her sleep, someone to come home to when her day had been hard and long. He'd felt her loneliness very strongly, and some little corner of himself answered the chime. He squashed it. How very unfair it seemed that people who wanted to be part of a team had no capacity to seek out their one, and people like him, who didn't want it, had it.

Not that Gwen didn't date. She did. People liked Gwen, and there was never a shortage of betas and even alphas seeking her affection. But, for all Gwen's loneliness, she didn't want just any man, and none of them were up to the task of her. None of them had been worthy of her, in Merlin's eyes. Nor Gwen's either, it seemed. She was picky about those people she went out with, and rarely did they make it past the third date. She was always a little sad about it, but also determined. She was not going to date a man she couldn't see herself really in love with.

So, she and Merlin were holding onto each other, loving each other fiercely to compensate for what they both felt the lack of.

He did understand though. While Gwen loved her work, he knew she yearned. She wanted to fill that little missing place, and couldn't fathom Merlin's acceptance at it's emptiness. She kept herself busy so she wouldn't notice her loneliness. Merlin refused to notice his loneliness so he could continue keeping busy.

Which was where he was different.

Coming into his sexuality was no more rough and awkward for him than for everyone else, but it did make an impact on Merlin. The passel of children collected in his generation had suddenly found their egalitarian unification against the castes of adults splintering as puberty dawned and half of them identified beta, and the remaining half split between alpha and omega. All of a sudden the world was thrown into a hormone fueled chaos as bodily needs and wants changed radically. If major interior upheaval wasn't enough, the way people looked at him changed too. Suddenly there was no sense in the world, inside or out. People informed by their expectations of your sexugender suddenly took it upon themselves to make judgments. Where there had once been amusement in Merlin's boldness, his sureness, when he identified omega, and his body began a series of embarrassing and moist changes, the confidence he bore was met with disapproval. What had been fitting for a child presumed to be alpha by his pre-orientated demeanor was now to be frowned upon, for no other reason than he wasn't meek, wasn't what people thought an omega should be in his small-town place of birth.

His teen years put every aspect of his life at the mercy of his heat cycles, and he hated it. School, social life, worst of all his heat synced happily up so the week of Comic-Con Merlin was not strolling around a convention hall dressed as Spiderman or the Doctor, but locked in his bedroom at home writhing while imagining Batman fucking him into a week from Tuesday. Theoretically, it should have had its perks. In reality is was irritating. It slowed him down, more than anything else.

Worse, when he spoke about pursuing his education people would smile tolerantly and ask him what his alpha would think of that. If he made statements about his intention not to have children the smile only got more condescending, or people would pat him and say he'd change his mind when he was older.

At eighteen Merlin participated in his first mating run. When the dust had settled and Beltane waned Merlin felt like the lone structure standing after a tornado. Not everyone in the small local gathering had mated, of course. It was a teeny town in the middle of nowhere, but better to try locally first before you paid the money to fly to Spring Run in Montana for the largest gathering in North America.

That year there was a freak cold snap. Merlin remembered quite vividly standing on grass crunchy with frost trying desperately to get warm while the collection of now legals, financially strapped, recently widowed, and repulsively desperate sort of milled around. Few gave the effort of running and enacting the whole call-of-the-moon need to mate. Merlin had been in heat, and therefore wet, uncomfortable, randy and cranky. He didn't like being naked in public, even if 'public' was the other equally nude participants in the run and the town Beltane Organizer and her security agents, all sworn to confidentiality.

He'd watched a middle aged femalpha with a beer gut lurch towards a femega who was in Merlin's history class with a distinctly lecherous grin. The femega scurried away from him looking disgusted. Since her running was no act to entice the femalpha to chase and catch, the femalpha was quickly winded and angry. Some of the other alphas chuckled at the display.

Not one of the alphas smelled the least bit appetizing, which, admittedly, was a bit of disappointment, considering Merlin had spent five years of heats imagining. Of course, reality was sure to fall short, but this short? A crappy bonfire around which most of the naked participants were in close orbit of, femegas huddled together, frightened despite slick thighs that glittered in pale moonlight, alphas standing around, some pointing their pricks at different omegas. Paired off couples were rutting noisily on their knees in the dirt, and uniformed Beltane officers who pretended not to see or hear and somewhere down the hill beyond the tape barricade his mother waiting anxiously. It was distressingly feeble.

Then he'd had a brief freak out that maybe he was gay and he'd somehow suppressed it...only the smell of the other omegas did zilch for him.

In the end, he'd just put his coat and his shoes back on and went home with his mom.

Despite all that, it was actually what happened after the frantic sex and pairing off that Merlin found eerie and disheartening. He'd gotten to be friends with a femega, (Merlin was the only momega for a hundred miles at least) and she became co-conspirator in dreams of college and world travel, hungry for the world beyond their town, eager for an alpha who would take them away from it all. After the mating run she suddenly changed her mind, reporting her desire to stay close to home with unbearably sad eyes. She didn't have to say that her mate wanted her here, not at a college campus. He said it enough all over town for the both of them, and she was already pregnant.

Choices were choices, but perhaps if the overwhelming percentage of those omegas who mated hadn't promptly dropped their dreams and ambitions Merlin wouldn't have felt so sickened by it. Was that what awaited him? Would he too look at the world with sad eyes and try to be content because his bodily needs tied him to some alpha's anatomy?

The world was changing. Forty years after the sexual revolution shouldn't still be seeing omegas crushed under the will of the alpha and satisgaudium. Happily wandering into cages like a bit of the joy hormone addled their brains.

Plenty didn't walk into imprisonment, Merlin knew that now of course. But, at eighteen in a small town where no one rocked the boat, it had felt suffocating.

He went on suppressants the next month. Merlin had wanted freedom. He'd gotten it.

He had no intention of surrendering it. There was no one worth it.

 

ᴥ

While he had no intention of reporting to his new committee like a sullen twelve year old, there was a certain lack of spring in his step when Merlin approached the designated room for the Abroad Committee. He was sure his skills would be put to good use in reviewing applications or running interviews, whichever the committee head selected for him, but he would miss the Academic Council.

When he peeped into the room by way of the little window in the door and saw the committee head Geoffrey Monmouth, followed by a line of other frankly dour staff (including Olaf toady femalpha Lilah Morgan), he had a feeling this was going to be a difficult few hours. He was probably going to need a coffee.

He turned to head to the staff lounge and nearly plowed into another man.

“Whoa there, careful,” Came a silky Irish voice, hands steadying Merlin's shoulders. “Are you by chance on the Study Abroad Committee?”

Merlin nodded, temporarily muted by luxurious hair and a handsome face to go with the brogue. And a rich cinnamon-and-mace alpha scent which the man wore with the same easy grace as he did jeans and leather jacket. He was undeniably appealing, more so when he slipped into a languidly charming grin.

“And here I thought things would be dull.” the man said.

“I'm just...off for coffee before we start.” Merlin cleared his throat, his faculties returning. He offered a hand. “I'm Merlin Emrys, associate professor of Sociology.”

“Gwaine Green, on loan from Cork Institute of Technology.” Gwaine engulfed his hand in a warm and hearty handshake. “Chemistry. I'm not at all sure why I'm nominated for this lark, except perhaps I'm foreign and therefore know something about it. This way for drinks, yeah?”

Merlin nodded and they took off down the hall towards the lounge.

“What's this lot like, then?”

“I don't know, actually. I've been with the Academic Council for three years now, they moved me this term. This switch was a little sudden.” Merlin said.

“Still, I can see why someone from the Psych and Soc department would be an asset. Sniff out the ones who'll go mad from homesickness in the first week, save the expense of sending them.”

Merlin laughed a little. They found scalded coffee in the lounge, and opted for tea instead, but not without Gwaine procuring a flask from a pocket somewhere and dosing both their cups. Merlin would have complained except he was positive he was going to need it. Instead, he teased Gwaine for being an Irish stereotype.

Gwaine only grinned and claimed he liked a good brawl, too.

They carried back their doctored tea to the classroom where Geoffrey welcomed them without sounding glad of having them at all.

Merlin liked Gwaine at once, his easy charm, and is habit of muttering sarcastic comments just under his breath and around the rim of his cup. They were loud enough for Merlin to hear, but no one else, and he had to work hard not to laugh. Instead he pretended to write notes on his legal pad, most of which read STOP IT BEFORE HE SCOLDS US and KNOCK IT OFF, MICK. This did not insult Gwaine, but only made him try harder.

By the end of the meeting Merlin was indeed slated to interview students applying for the study abroad programs along with Gwaine.

When the rest of the committee members had filed out Gwaine let out a sigh.  
“That's done then. Well, working together! That calls for a drink, I think. “

“Didn't we just have a drink?”

Gwaine tsked at Merlin as if he were simply minded. “There's a bar on Cedar that the students don't use. Care for a beer?” He used the words 'bar' and 'beer' with an American drawl.

Merlin rather happily found himself being dragged off to the bar, which Gwaine said was substituting for a pub, but was nowhere near as good as. The low student population seemed to be key because Gwaine was a born flirter. He flirted with everyone, as naturally as he breathed, and though most of the power of that lazy grin was focused on Merlin, Gwaine didn't hesitate to spread it around. A breadth of space between he and campus decreased the possibility that a one night stand he took home would pop up in his class the following semester. He was very much a roving malpha content to play the field.

They had drinks, falling into easy conversation. Merlin loved listening to Gwaine's rippling accent, and what he had to say wasn't bad either.

“What made you come to the states?” Merlin asked him as he was finishing his beer.

Gwaine was on his second. He shrugged and said. “My Da was a bit of a gypsy. Always traveling about for the company he worked for. I hated it; for all the money he made he was never home, but he loved it. He loved the travel. Lo and behold when I settled down my feet began to itch.” Gwaine said on a chuckle and polished off his second.

“How long are you here for?”

“Two years.”  
“After that?”

Gwaine shrugged.” Wherever the wind takes me.”

When Merlin drove home that night, it was fueled by a happy bubble of contentment. He and Gwaine had made another drinks date, and Merlin was tentatively hopeful he'd made a new friend.

 

ᴥ

 

 _Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

_Subject: Polk, Grace_

_Sexugender./Physiogender: Betafem/Female_

_Orientation: Heterosexual_

_Marital Status: Dating. Unbonded._

_My orientation is my own damn business, that's why. You want to find a nice shelf to put me on? I don't think so. I don't classify like produce. I'm not an apple or an orange or a damn kumquat. And people have the alphamones to say 'oh, well, you're non-dynamic, you don't have to get involved, what does it matter to you?'. Like betas opted out of the human race or something. Like we don't matter since we're not chasing or exposing tail. And alphas, omegas? They've never been totally brushed aside, like you don't exist, like you're not worth someone's time because you don't announce your preferences with a bullhorn. And, hate to break it to you? Betas are more than half the population, so how come the entirety of culture is oriented around the alpha cock? They did that in neolithic times too, but at least they had the honesty of carving big dicks out of stone and kowtowing in front of them. I'm not here to be sorted, to be relegated based on how I breed- IF I breed. I'm here to be valued for me. My skills, my abilities, my choices._

ᴥ

It was Gwaine who ended up taking Merlin to the airport for his flight to New York City. He'd even offered to come along, to make a weekend out of it, though Merlin firmly reminded him this was for work. Somehow he doubted taking Gwaine along would be conducive to a scholarly frame of mind.

New York was soggy and damp when Merlin's plane landed. It remained mucky all the way to his motel, where he was able to change out of his sodden clothes into a fresh, unwrinkled suit. When he arrived at Dr. Aglain's office Starbucks cup in tow, the secretary behind the desk gave him a dismissive once over, but buzzed him through.

Dr. Aglain was a soft spoken man with cinnamon colored skin. Once the receptionist had announced Merlin he came out to shake hands and also introduce a Mr. Murphy who was a lawyer. This made Merlin raise a brow, but in the end he had no particular problem with the confidential contracts that were presented to him. He read their contents carefully, but found they contained little more than the privacy that was contained in his own waivers which he brought out for them to examine.

It was only after the lawyer had spirited away the signed papers when the door opened.

Merlin almost swallowed his tongue.

Morgana Le Fey.

Morgana Le Fey, gorgeous malpha, high fashion model, entrepreneur and trendsetter had sauntered in. She was all sleek lines, and perfectly coiffed, purple eyeshadow setting off the pale eyes, the sort of perfection Merlin was certainly sure didn't exist outside of four hours of photo-shop. He sat unmoving, watching her as she dropped herself elegantly into a seat and crossed long legs.

“You have a waiver for me?” She asked after there had been a moment's quiet.

“Oh-Yes. Sorry.” Merlin fumbled with his pages, but handed one over. He saw out of the corner of his eye Dr. Aglain hide a bit of a smile behind a hand hovering over his mouth. Merlin felt himself flush a little.

“Professor Emrys, this is Ms. Le Fey.”

“I think we can assume he knows that, Dr. Aglain.” Morgana scrawled her name with a flourish and sliding it back over. She'd never bothered to read it.

“Well now,” Morgana shot Merlin a sharp smile. “A little surprised I see.”

“It does explain the lawyer.” Merlin acknowledged.

“Mmn. I do like my privacy, I'm sure you've heard.”

The only super model to be tried for assault. She'd hurled a Loubiton at a paparazzo hanging upside down from a fourth floor balcony to snap pictures of her on her third floor balcony. She'd nailed him in the head. He'd fallen into some trees, broken bones and brought charges against her. Since he was on the property illegally the affair was settled out of court. Oddly enough, people didn't seem to be too sympathetic towards the paparazzo.

Still, Morgana Le Fey. Publicly regarded as a malpha, since she was the face of several upscale products, including one high fashion malpha lingerie line with an aggressively racy advertising campaign. Actually, come to think of it, Merlin had used some of those pictures in one of his classes; artful Morgana standing or laying down with smokey eye make up staring unabashed at the camera, wearing a variety of colorful and lacy underthings barely constraining rather evidently erect malpha cock, the control top molding and outlining so everything, from the tapered tip to the swell of a knot was known to the viewer. In some pictures she posed with momega model Mamoru Chiba in momega maternity under garments, the complementary line. The images caused quite a stir, with calls of obscenity, more particularly with Morgana than Mamoru. They made good food for discussion for his classes though. The viewpoints on Morgana's groin never failed to stir a wide range of opinions for discussion.

Which made seeing this famous face watching him expectantly all the more disconcerting. More so to learn that Morgana was no malpha, but a theta. Indeed, if he were honest, Merlin would confess it gave him a jolting thrill. He let his fingers give a wiggle and then shifted to his computer bag to remove his laptop.

“Well, I confess, I have heard of you. Rather unavoidable, in some ways. Sorry. You did surprise me. I didn't expect so public a figure.” Merlin flashed her an apologetic smile for having gaped at her.

“You mean you think I should be hiding? More than I already am?” One of Morgana's brows arched.

“Not at all. I wanted to do this study precisely because I do think people have rights to privacy even in the most public arenas.” Merlin assured her. He pulled open the screen and hit a few buttons. “You won't mind making an audio recording...?”

Morgana waved in what appeared to be permission, but she was still eyeing him sharply. “How many years, for you?” she asked. She didn't need to specify; with the two of them their chemical scents mingled into something alien and unidentifiable in the small office.

Merlin opened up his recording program. “A few.”

“A few is two or three. You're at least eight.”

“How do you know that, Ms. Le Fey?”

“Haven't you noticed? The smell of someone on suppressants. After about eight years it goes very slightly sweet- just a little. As if something has begun to rot inside you.” She wasn't blinking, staring at him.

Actually it was a little unnerving.

“That's part of the chemical process. It goes sweet after a certain acclimation.” Merlin said.

Morgana smirked. “Well. It's not as if the drug companies wouldn't mind destroying our insides with one medication in order to sell us new medication for repairing the damage of the old.”

“Jaded.”

“Life in the public eye.” She looked at his coffee, sitting forgotten and untouched. Then she looked at Dr. Aglain. “I think I should be fine here. Would you mind awfully sending your secretary out for a hazelnut macchiato? Soy. No foam.”

“I'm your doctor, not your PA, Morgana.” Dr. Aglain warned, but it seemed to be with a sort of acceptance that knew argument would be fruitless. Morgana smiled at him as he rose and departed the room.

“There now.” she turned the smile back on Merlin. “Now we can be really comfortable.”

“I don't mind Dr. Aglain sitting in, if you prefer.” Merlin said.

“He hears me whine enough already. He'll be glad of the reprieve. You're not what I expected either, Dr. Emrys.” Those pale probing eyes scored up and down him again, and Merlin could well believe he wasn't what she expected of some researcher from a college. People tended to have a very limited view of academics as perennial sixty three year old males in tweed, with grizzled hair, glasses and dotty personalities. And certainly not men half that age in charcoal suits with messy black hair and time lord pocket watches.

Morgana continued. “With those cheekbones you should be in my line of work, draped over alphas in a monochrome photoscape hocking vodka or something. Granted, you look too much the precious lamb to let a drop of alcohol touch your lips.”

Merlin chose to dip his head down non-noncommittally while he saved the audio file. Morgana said nothing for a few moments, but was watching keenly. Merlin could feel it.

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

Merlin hesitated, but it wasn't his office. Morgana took it for permission and in a few minutes she was replete with prop. As Merlin began to pose his questions and she to answer he noticed she would light up cigarettes more to hold and gesture with them than to inhale.

With great honesty and sarcastic wit she wove him a story of a childhood marred by the death of her parents, and an adoption where a tyrannical guardian tried to force her to live as omega, tried to surgically alter her only for her to discover he was her real father all along. How the betrayal nearly destroyed her, and left her lingering hatred for medical doctors. Her eventual escape and freedom was hard won, as was her rise in the public eye. She spoke with with candor, sparing none of the harshness.

At the end of two hours Merlin was certain of three things.

The first was that Morgana knew who she was, and was going to be that person regardless. She just didn't have to come out and tell you. If you were too stupid to see what was before your eyes, that was your problem. She explained that she'd never lied; she'd never said she was a malpha, she'd never signed documents or otherwise made any claims. What people said about her or what they presumed was nothing to do with her. It wasn't her job to correct their mistakes, and if their errors in judgment furthered her career, why would she begin making a big fuss?

The second was that the misconception was not only useful, but Morgana got a kick out of the deception. While he wouldn't have called her unkind (terrifying, possibly) there was some core of private amusement about her grand masquerade. The public was one thing, but scores of make-up personnel, stylists, photographers, talk show hosts, Personal Assistants, marketing people, those she had intensive contact with were never the wiser. She'd even had sex with people who never noticed. It seemed to amuse her and at the same time cause disdain.

It had not done a lot for her faith in people, which lead back into the power trip of tricking them, using them. She herself was sharp as knives. As evidenced when he concluded the interview.

“You're omega.” She announced. He didn't startle, but it was a near thing. Not because of her judgment, many people had said something similar to him, a proclamation of his sexugender as if there was a prize in the offing for getting it right. It was the matter-of-factness to it. Usually there was some quaver of uncertainty mixed in with the smugness. Morgana was certain.

“Oh?” He said, for he had had plenty of time to learn how to respond to such prying, and he knew his words sounded casual and unconcerned.

“Mmn.” She said, drawing on her fourth cigarette and then stubbing it out in the ashtray. “It's not that you're slight. Plenty of men are, regardless, though I'm sure that's why most people guess omega. You maneuvered me out of the dominant handshake position- I have read a great deal on body language, don't look so surprised, I'm sure you have as well- but you didn't take control. An alpha would. They can't help themselves. Unless you're a very special alpha...but I don't think so. When you were asking me questions you were so focused on me you forgot about you.”

Morgana reached for him, taking his left hand from the laptop. For a moment Merlin attempted to resist, but she cast him a look and he let her draw it nearer. He wasn't chastened, but a little curious to see what conclusions Morgana le Fey had drawn. Clearly she'd been analyzing him as much as he had her.

“You show your palms and wrists too often for alpha or beta, an indication of how submissive and nonthreatening you are. I bet it gets you a lot of information, when matched with those cheekbones and pretty blue eyes.”

Her fingers were cool, and her hands moved with the kind of grace you'd be disappointed if a super model didn't possess. She aimed his palm down and spread his fingers, running the tips of hers long the bumps of his knuckles them over the fingernails. Then she flipped his hand over so she could stroke his palm in little whirling motions.

“It could be a ploy, as you said, to use body language to my advantage.” Merlin pointed out.

Morgana made no response. She was looking at his upturned palm now. She held the wrist with one hand. It was a tidy hand, soft skinned, but though the nails were neatly maintained, buffed and polished, there was no lethally sharp manicure. Her fingernails were short, not even gloss on them. That seemed at odds with her aggressively fashionable and expensive shoes, clothes and handbag.

A femsexual, Merlin concluded as he looked at her hands. Morgana was classy, but practical. She liked to look good, have the best, but nothing that involved fussy maintenance.

He was drawn back to her actions when she traced the pink lines on his palm. His Line of Head, Line of Fate, and then, with a sort of shadowy smile of success his Line of Heart.

“Feathers at the beginning... You're very passionate. Curved, so you're also warm, sensitive and reasonable, well balanced emotionally. And very long, which means near co-dependency with your partner, and there will only be one. But, look at that. No ring. No mark where a ring was. Unwed.” Her eyes flicked up, briefly to his neck. “Unbonded. A stubborn, unclaimed mature omega full of devotion to give and... refusal to let it out.”

Morgana's eyes settled back on his. This time they were something akin to apologetic. “You must be very lonely.”

Her fingertips stroked over his hand now, less purpose to the rhythmic motion. It should have felt like flirting, but it wasn't. She was poking into him, prodding, only without questions.

Merlin tugged his hand away calmly. “Thank you for the analysis, Ms. Le Fey.” He considered pointing out he could be in a relationship not yet advanced to commitment, but held his tongue instead. Best not to engage.

Her eyes were bright. Merlin felt she was pleased he didn't rush in to defend or deny.

“Any time, Dr. Emrys. I'm available for counsel at your leisure.”

Merlin thanked Morgana for her time and her honesty. She only smiled in a way Merlin did find slightly unnerving, even though he shouldn't. She left first, long legs in those impressive shoes taking big earth-conquering strides.

She paused before exiting, however, calling to him. “We'll be seeing each other again, Merlin.” and she was gone.  
A little off balance with her identification, and her prediction which came in the same, sure tone, Merlin put his laptop away, gathered his papers and then spoke briefly to Dr. Aglain. On his way out the secretary didn't look up from her computer. He said goodbye anyway.

En route to his motel, Merlin told himself that Morgana le Fey, however clever she fancied herself, didn't know him.

The third thing he'd learned about Morgana is that he never, ever wanted to get on her bad side. She'd make a harsh, blunt but vital friend, but she'd make a ruthless and lethal enemy.

 

ᴥ

October came to a close and with it, the general unexplained oddities which came with rush as Sororities and Fraternities settled down with the bizarre and selected their new members.

Cenred still lurked in classrooms under the guise of getting to know the professors. He seemed to like calling meetings for dispersal of inconsequential information, which was more a demonstration of wielding his will over his department when an email would have sufficed.

He also made a habit of making Merlin's TA femega Mary Ann Spier nervous for apparently no other reason than he could.

Merlin was teaching, volunteering and doing guest lectures at other colleges in order to pick up additional surveys for his study.

He was also obliged to keep up with Gwen, who was participating in two AIDS fundraisers; a walk and a Jell-O Wrestling Extravaganza. Merlin didn't mind being dragged into walking, but he outright refused to wrestle in Jell-O come spring... though he did promise to give generously to see Gwen do so. In fact both and he and Freya promised faithfully to be there as moral support. And to film it. For posterity. Then Gwaine decided it sounded like a good cause and signed up to wrestle as well.

Merlin was now looking forward to April with new verve, and the prospect of Gwaine rolling around not terribly dressed in some brightly colored gelatin was not unwelcome. Maybe being a friend, Merlin could bagsie licking some of it off him. Then Merlin realized how unsanitary that was and chastened himself, deciding not to think about Jell-O wrestling any further. Or semi-naked Gwaine in the Jell-O. Or Gwaine in any state of undress at all. Or Jell-O, just to be safe.

Somehow, Gwaine seemed to have joined their confederacy. He began to join him, Freya and Gwen for lunch. The foursome went out to eat, they went to a few Albion games, movies, Gwen dragged them to volunteer for several good causes, Freya took them to galleries. Gwaine flirted with them, but then, Gwaine flirted with everyone. Including Cenred, on one notable occasion. Merlin cherished the repulsed face Cenred made at the very idea of two malphas tussling.

Since Gwaine was sociable, charming and unerringly likeable, Merlin had been convinced that Gwaine would meet him for drinks a few times, and when no identity was forthcoming, lose interest entirely. He'd move on to a flirty co-ed or other appealing staff member, which was what social butterflies like Gwaine did.

With this in mind, Merlin took care not to let his heart flail too wildly. He liked Gwaine, yes, but Gwaine was a rover. He took no efforts to obscure his love 'em and leave 'em lifestyle, and how could he when he had a fair number of conquests in Albion already? Lilah Morgan included. They had to avoid her at staff functions since whatever had gone down, Professor Morgan wanted Professor Green's balls on a highly polished silver platter garnished with caviar.

As for Merlin? Deep down he was tragically monogamous, a happily-ever-after sort. There would only be one, for him, and digging Gwaine out of whatever scrapes Gwaine had stumbled into while never settling down was not his idea of bliss.

However...Merlin couldn't help but ponder how attractive Gwaine was, even though it was hopeless. Gwaine hid a sharp mind behind an affable exterior, but it peeped out when he started speaking of the chemical compositions of the beer he was brewing at home, or any chemistry in general, including his repertoire of chemistry related pick up lines. He had a goofy sense of humor, smiled fast and easy, but also seemed as if once his friendship was won, it was not so easily lost.

Merlin wasn't foolish. He permitted himself to dream about how lovely it could be only sparingly. He imagined dating Gwaine, revealing his orientation. Gwaine had no urge to settle, he wouldn't cage Merlin, wouldn't make demands. He'd shrug, probably, and they'd carry on, an agreeable couple, the commitment negligible, the sex free flowing and enthusiastic.

But Gwaine was not someone to entrust a secret to. Not that he felt that Gwaine would tell everyone Merlin was omega. Eventually, Merlin knew he was going to have to talk to Gwaine about what this was and what it could never be (while not pursuing him, there was the definite impression that if Merlin stumbled Gwaine would be there to catch him), but for the moment he let it be nice. Possibility was the playground of hope.

Merlin's own choice not to seek his alpha was one firmly made. That his nature was onry enough to decline sexual congress with anyone that wasn't his alpha was a kick in the pants, but it wasn’t something Merlin was going to die from. His first early heats were solved with a door lock and a dildo. It wasn't the same, he knew that, but the suppressants took care of his cycle, muting it to a forlorn tickle rather than a furnace blast of want.

He'd tried , of course he'd tried. Blockers or not, a body still got horny, a mind still wanted intimacy. It never worked. No matter how aroused he was, the moment naked skin touched him, the moment he got a breath full of someone else's arousal his body hit the breaks. Lust would become disgust, not for sex in general, but for his partner. This person who was not the one for him, this smell which was not his to claim.

It had been annoying, discovering that for as free thinking and open as Merlin considered himself to be, he couldn't make good on any of it.

Gwaine made him wonder, though. Despite years of failed attempts with alphas and betas alike, some niggling part of him wondered if it could be different this time. It had been two years since his last attempt...which had been just as disastrous as the others. The malpha he'd picked up at a club was not very pleased by Merlin's formerly hard erection wilting into nothing the moment they got naked. It had been excruciating, and Merlin a little bit drunk, thinking all he needed to do was loosen up. He studied the mind. He knew the older you got the more difficult sensual intimacy became. In his more rational moments he knew chastity wasn't such a difficult burden to bear, once you became accustomed to it. It even gave you perspective. It was only when his guard came down and he wanted so badly.

And Gwaine, Merlin reflected, would be a good sport about it. Wouldn't deride Merlin if he hopped on for a ride and Mr. Happy slumped..and so he didn't want to do that to Gwaine, either. No matter the ego on a man, it suffered a blow when a sexual partner couldn't get it up for them. Better to keep him as a friend. Just a friend and not a failed-romantic-liaison-turned-friend friend.

 

ᴥ

 

“Alright. This is a lesson where things are going to get a bit saucy.” There were a few whoops and catcalls from his _Evolution of the Pack_ class which Merlin quelled with his hands. “I know. Now. We are going to be watching some explicit footage and having an intelligent dialogue about the contents. However, if you are made uncomfortable, you may leave and in lieu of the lecture you may turn in a three page paper on the history of scent marking next week. Is that clear? Lovely. Here we go.”

Merlin hit a key on his laptop and the video commenced, having been cued to the correct start point earlier.

A blonde haired betamale was resting in the seiza deference position, head dropped so he was bent, palms flat on the floor, the camera angle catching him head on so his supple beta cock lay between his thighs. His nipples were caught in clamps. When the camera panned the betamale showed signs of having been flogged. Behind him paced a femalpha, wearing an elaborate corset that hoisted her breasts up as it bared them.

“Gonna make you stink of me, would you like that, baby? Smell like mommy? Everywhere you go, people sniffing you, people smelling me alllll over you, knowing you belong to mommy, that she owns you. Won't you like that, baby? All the people knowing who you belong to?” She was murmuring at him, reaching a gloved hand to stroke his hair. The betamale moaned an assent.

“Please, mommy. Make me smell good. Make me smell good.” He pleaded softly.

The femalpha crooned at him. “Don't worry baby, here it comes, you've been such a good boy, taking everything mommy gave you, proving you were worth it. Now hold still, don't move, you hold still and you'll get your reward...” She lifted a leg, stepping over his head so her crotch hovered over the back of his exposed neck. The betamale was breathing swiftly now, excited. The camera zoomed in to catch the femalpha's labia twitching, and then out in time to show the burst of liquid as it poured out of her, rushing down the betamale's spine to the crevice of his bottom, over his shoulders to bathe his chest and thighs. The betamale moaned, and went almost instantaneously erect, panting out his thanks, groveling down to kiss the femalpha's boots when the flow stopped, almost humping the air. The femalpha stroked his hair.

“Ready to show mommy how well you can breed? Mommy only wants virile betas in her pack. That's good, you smell all like mommy now, and look how hard you are, come on baby...Show mommy how well you can fuck-” The camera panned over to the right where a betafem was locked onto a breeding stool, bottom in the air.

Merlin cut off the video to silence. He looked at the class which didn't seem to know how quite to respond. Some were muffling giggles, some were red, and some studiously blank.

“Now, we all know that alphas and omegas find each others scent powerful attractants and aphrodisiacs- This, however, is a betamale, and yet, when he is scent marked he goes from a totally flaccid state to arousal in about five seconds. Can anyone hazard why this is?”

“It's sexy?” One of the students offered tentatively. There was some tittering.

“Yes, it is, but is it arousing enough to get this reaction this quickly?”

Many of the students looked at one and other, but no one hazarded a guess.

Merlin began. “Scent Marking is a very different process from Bondmate scenting, and it's important you understand the distinction. Though scent marking has gone out of practice, it has not left our genes.

“Now. A bondmate scenting takes place instantaneously at the time the bond is made during a mating, though obviously one side of the pair must be either alpha or omega. Betas cannot bond since they do not possesses oxyamornin, the bonding trigger hormone. They can be bonded to, however, though this is rather infrequent.

So. You have, for the sake of example, an femalpha and a momega, both flushed with testosterone, estrogen, progesterone, vassopressin from all the rolling around they're doing, as well as the ever vital alpha produced satisgaudium which the omega in heat craves, and then, boom, orgasm. The body releases oxytocin, and in turn that stimulates the production of oxyamornin into saliva, production of which drives the post orgasmic subject to bond. Alphas have this somewhat easier, as they just pop out their Rectorular Canines and bite down, but omegas can do the same with standard canines, albeit with more work and therefore requiring a more compliant alpha, until saliva commingles with blood. From there, oxyamornin agitates with the dormant andophrengen cells, and a nascent bond takes hold at a cellular level.

“The purpose of Bonding and thus scenting, is to tie the pair together biologically and assure the creation and protection of prospective offspring. Ideally, of course, you have two figures which are mutually bonded to one and other, but the purpose of this discussion is not to argue a/a, o/o, o/a, a/b, o/b or any involving t/c/m bonding combinations or other circumstances with a half-bond. A partner may only be called a Bondmate when each has bonded to the other, otherwise it is known as a Dixotobond, a half bond.

“A bonding can be broken if an even stronger bond is forged but this is why, historically, alphas tended to keep a nice harem of betas over additional omegas to prevent any bond accidents. We will be discussing bonding again later in the semester.”

Merlin had scribbled a few words onto the white board, mostly the complicated names of the hormones at work. Now he left the board and began to circle the class.

“Scentmarking is usually performed by an alpha, despite the fact that alphas, betas and omegas possess the necessary glands. Now, while it might look like urination, the fluid present, the Aquarichor comes from the merrkya, and is actually only 30% urine, 45% akolouthkhri the rest of it comprised of 20% seminal fluid or female ejaculate and 5% a mixture of squalene, acetic acid, lactic acid, ketones, and aldehyde. There is no satisguadium in Aquaichor.

“In the strictest natural sense, one does not scentmark a mate, nor biological family. There is no need. Your mate will bear your bond-smell and your family will already smell like you on behalf of that handy little thing called genetics.

“Who is it an alpha scentmarks, then? Well, members of the malpha's harem, since ze cannot bond with them and a claim still must be made. But now that the malpha has a pack of pregnant betas and omegas, ze is producing offspring more swiftly than ze can feed them. The femalpha led packs, by contrast, tended to form triumverates or femalpha pairs, with one of them being the slightly more dominate partner, the Grand-Femalpha, and the others the demi-Femalphas. However, the trio are very likely to have linked estrus, and so they will all be pregnant and incapacitated, and therefore unable to defend their territory.

“Solution? Betas. Alphas will adopt a number of Betas into their pack to help with foraging, child-rearing, hunting and defense. These betas are scentmarked to identify them as that alpha's pack, but are free to interbreed with unclaimed pack members.

“However, since there is no molecular bonding occurring during scentmarking it means a scentmarking is temporary. It can last up to six months, but then must reapplied. This keeps packs fluid, allows for members to go start their own packs or join others. Only after a consistent scentmarking of a decade or more does a subject absorb sufficient levels of a donor’s akolouthkrhi- that's akolouthkrhi. It is the scenting hormone, from the Greek 'follower'. This means only your most trusted and devoted would eventually take on your smell.

“This system of pack dynamics is what colors our pre-history. All those little cavemen, running around scenting each other while their brains were still developing. It begins to change as humanoids move from nomadic lifestyles to sedentary agrarian ones. And what happens when humans settle down and figure out how to provide their own food?

“Populations explode. No longer are we packs, we become tribes, then settlements, then villages, and that of course comes with entirely new problems for our scentmarking drive. For example. How is the alpha pharaoh of Egypt, master of millions, able to scentmark zer 'pack'? Ze cannot. It is not feasible. Ze'd die of dehydration first.

“Aztec monarchs would add their scent fluid to a vat of cacaua atl, a drink made from cold water, ground cacao beans and spices, pairing the King's smell with the smell of this divine food to anoint those of the highest class, which included priests, warriors and nobility. In the Chinese empire the Emperor scentmarked zer harem, the Grand Tutor and the Excellencies, the Excellencies in turn scentmarked the ministers and on down. However, the Greeks and the Romans eventually abandoned scentmarking altogether as part of the 'beast ideal' they considered themselves above, and therefore it helped feed the image of the Germanic packs as barbarians, as they continued the pack mentality abd scentmarking during the rise of empires.

“This would eventually transmute into feudalism after Rome fell, wherein a monarch would scentmark zer vassals, the vassals their underlings, and so forth down to the serf, whose scentmarker was likely to also be zer tax-collector. As an amusing note, not infrequently in medieval court documents were tax collectors accused of just pissing on people. In fact, if you were a tax collector and you were found guilty of merely pissing on people, you were sentenced to being beaten by those you pissed upon with the freshly clipped testicles of a bull placed in a hemp-woven bag.”

There were a few snorts of laughter, and a couple of slightly disbelieving looks. Merlin smiled at them. “Yes. History is strange.”

He continued. “However, in a larger structure, scentmarking is still impractical. Feudalism managed to extend it's life a few hundred years, but rather than smell, people were becoming more known by name in both western and eastern cultures. You can hardly record 'that malpha who smells like pinecones and yeast' in a legal document. No, it becomes Edith the Baker. Or Cheng the chicken farmer. Here the written word supersedes these ancient instincts and as writing becomes more and more commonplace.

“By the Renaissance marking your subjects was finished as part of the governmental system in the western world. It was even being viewed with great suspicion as it was believed it had contributed to thousands of deaths in the plague, which of course it had. It is here we find our first medical document on scentmarking, written in 1516 by Dr. Edwin Clarke about the proper way to scentmark. Here is a line from it; 'Let thy alpha be of goode strength and hearty continence, clear of ill humors, wind and of faire disposition, for ire doth curdle the pungent scents. What water ze passes prior to the deed should be of pale color, clear and carry no malodorous fumes. Nor should be present boils, sores, warts nor other signs of ailing.' which is the sum total of actual medical information besides for a note about hydrating the alpha after marking. Most of the book regards social propriety around scentmarking and is, I admit, a fascinating read.

“So then, when the government stops scentmarking people as subjects, an odd thing happens. We must never forget that it is a drive, and most drives will, one way or another come to be expressed in some fashion or another. What happens to scentmarking? It begins to rear its head within the bastion it was never needed; within familial constraints. That's right, for the first time the natural familial scent is deemed insufficient, and people begin to scentmark their own children and immediate family. Step-relations and devoted servants or other prized persons had always been included in the pack, but for a stretch of time you have a surge of scentmarking of children, siblings, even bondmates. Blood family they already have scent signatures of, which is rather redundant, don't you think?

“However, there is a notable change. Alphas have generally be the ones to scent their underlings, all through history, but in the 16th century it is no longer a given scentmarking is being done by an alpha. Instead, whoever was household head, be it alpha, beta or omega can now mark subordinates. This marks a shift away from the alpha as primary in domestic life.

“From the Renaissance up until the mid 19th century it was fairly widely practiced, but highly private, this inter family marking. We're given a glimpse at how this was handled from Jane Austen's account in Pride and Prejudice when the housekeeper Mrs. Hill was charged with bringing the sisters a 'ewer for their father's most particular use' the contents of which they anoint themselves with by the use of sponges while Elizabeth tells Jane all about her encounter with Mr. Darcy.

“Since that time the practice has dwindled still further as hierarchical social orders have broken down and nationalism increased, especially in the western world, though there was a brief resurgence during the armed forced in World War Two. Now it lingers on in a number of third world countries, and in Asia, but is used more in upper class castes as more of a social distinction rather than a tribal identifier, which was of course the initial purpose. “

Merlin had paced around the room several times by now, and was pleased to see note taking, but most of all, interested faces following him as he went.

“So. Why don't we do this any more, and yet why does it show up in our pornography with surprising frequency?” Merlin addressed the class and let that question linger. There were no takers, with people scribbling down information from the few slides he'd flicked through the machine.

“First off. Who should we be marked by? Most Americans dispensed with scentmarking entirely by the Revolutionary War as another way to reject English land owning nobility, who were well known to practice it on anyone who worked in their households, on their tenant farms or in any other way might be considered their responsibility. In this country, we prize individuality, hold it above the demands of family. In fact, who would we consider our pack leader, our alpha? You run in many packs, in today's age. Which do you pledge to? For the first time in history we have an omega president, our leaders are no longer distinguished by their sexugender. Should the president scentmark you? Perhaps your family head? Father? Mother? Grandparents? Foster-parents? Should it be the household breadwinner, the pack head, or the oldest member? Perhaps you don't find your pack leader in your family. Perhaps zer is the head of an organization or group you value, such as Albion college's own Olaf Thorpe, perhaps a martial arts sensei, personal coach, a girl-scout troop leader, your boss at work, or a religious leader, even the DM of your D&D group are viable options to turn to for a pack leader.

“Who does still scentmark in the US? A very few families still do. Charles Manson scentmarked his devotees- and so do certain religious groups. Not alphas, of course, for Jesus said 'Let alpha know no other god but ur'. That rather leaves you Beta Eves twisting in the wind, but not so badly as 'The Children of Lilith', the vile seducer Omega, who are empty hearted tempters, according to the good book, and therefore should be scentmarked for the good of the community. You harlots, you. “

That got a titter of laughter.

“So, let's talk about....”

ᴥ

 

All Hallow's Eve found Merlin with an oddly colored cocktail in Gwen's apartment, with almost all the surfaces in the kitchen covered in home-made caramel apples, the ones rolled in nuts or other treats in the living room to prevent any allergen crossing, all wrapped in little plastic pouches and tied with red or black ribbons.

Gwen was well known in her neighborhood and so could get away with her home made goodies, in fact they were avidly looked forward to by kids and parents alike. She did have a bowl of reserve store bought candy for the strangers, which Merlin had rooted out a handful of the mixed mini bars from while he eyed his mystery cocktail. Freya had already drunk half hers, trusting soul.

“What's the black stuff?” Merlin asked Gwen. She was in the bathroom applying makeup. He'd peeked in to greet her as she was working on her nose.

“It's a Bloody Scarey, from Martha Stewart. It's Blavo Black Vodka, you chicken. Prosecco, orange juice, campari, some simple syrup and the black vodka. Try it. It hasn't killed Freya.”

“Yet.” Merlin muttered.

Gwen must have heard. She threw a denuded cardboard toilet paper tube at him.

Merlin sipped his drink and discovered it was not repulsive. He also threw the tube back, but it missed and hit the wall.

“No wonder Coach Owain didn't want you for the faculty baseball team.” Freya commented from the sofa. She was dressed as Frida Kahlo, fake eyebrows drawn in and was curled contentedly with a bowl of popcorn on her lap.

“I'll have you know we never got to my throwing arm. He threatened to put me on the team because I could run, I threatened to tell his wife about he and Vivian.” Merlin shrugged. “Simple.”

The doorbell rang and Gwen left her whiskers half applied to rush a tray to the door. She gave a coo when she opened it, greeting the children by name or pretending not to know who they were behind masks, and generally lathering them with complements while their parents smiled on.

“What are we doing tonight?” He said, once she'd closed the door once more.

“I borrowed some scary movies from Elyan's supply. They're on the tv.” Gwen said as she resumed her catification. Merlin got up to investigate.

“How is he?” Freya asked.

“Apparently quite happy. He's in Cameroon, in Africa. Something with water and sanitation.”

“That's what they do with Engineers in the Peace Corps.” Merlin muttered. He found Rosemary's Baby and Silence of the Lambs on top of the TV and shrugged. Close enough to horror for Gwen. A little Lector was a good thing.

“He likes Africa a lot more than the Pacific Islands. “ Gwen said through the ajar door.

Elyan had been with the Peace Corps for four years after surprising his father Tom and Gwen by quitting his very respectable job and heading out into the great unknown. Gwen would send him care packages and he in return would send Gwen the most fascinating souvenirs and artifacts of his travels.  
Finishing his cocktail, Merlin set it down to clap when Gwen came out of the bathroom cat ears in place, long fake black fingernails shaped into ‘claws’ and a mask over her eyes. The doorbell rang again and she sprinted over to send another horde of children off with caramel apples.  
When she came back Merlin squinted at her. “Why are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” Gwen replied innocently.

The doorbell rang again.

Merlin reached for the tray of caramel apples. “I'll get this one,”

“No!” Gwen said, then cemented on a wide smile. “I've got it.”

She dispensed with another crew of children.

“That.” said Merlin when she returned.

The lofty innocent look Gwen affected was not terribly convincing.

“Are you expecting someone?” Freya asked.

“No.” Gwen hastened to say.

Merlin raised a brow. “Who?”

“No one!”

The doorbell rang.

Gwen refused to meet their eyes when she went to open it. As she did, she gave a pleased sounding “Terence! Hello! And you must be Eoghan and Lamia.”

Merlin craned his head to peek over Gwen's shoulder. He could see a tall and handsome betamale with a hint of a mustache around his lip. He had two kids with him, one dressed as Optimus Prime and the other like a princess.

The exchange was reasonably short with Gwen inquiring about the kid's costumes, helping them choose caramel apples and Terence praising her for her culinary skill. More telling were Gwen's speech patterns. She would state something and then backtrack, adding and explaining so her intent did not come off more exuberantly than a possible overly-enthusiastic interpretation of her original words. It was classic Gwen attraction. Merlin joined Freya on the couch where they listened shamelessly. Gwen did invite Terrence in to meet her friends, but apparently the kids had a candy schedule to keep and before long they were gone. Merlin heard the door shut. He sipped his drink beside Freya.

Gwen came back into the room very slowly, eyeing them furtively with all the caution a person might use to enter a room with a twitchy tiger on the couch instead of your two friends.

She sat down in the chair.

“So!” she said brightly

“So.” Freya said.

“So...” Merlin echoed.

Quiet.

Gwen fiddled with a few of the candy apples on her tray, rustling the plastic packaging.

Freya sipped her drink.

“So.” Merlin said again. “Terence.”

Gwen abruptly groaned and put her face in her hands. After a moment she pulled them away looking both flushed and embarrassed. “Dr. Helios. He's new at the clinic.”

Freya leaned forward to take an apple. “He seemed nice.”

“I told him about all the apples and he said he would bring his kids by.”

Merlin tilted his head. “He has kids.”

“He's divorced, Merlin. Don't use that tone with me. Besides. I like kids. And he's a great doctor, really. We're lucky to have him at the clinic.”

“Are you going out with him?” Freya asked.

Gwen smiled, small and anticipating. “I hope so. I mean, he hasn't asked. I was going to ask, but then I thought, well, the divorce is new. What if he doesn't want to go out yet? What if he isn't ready? And what if he feels like he can't tell me that, so if I ask he feels obligated to say yes, and then he's dating me because he doesn't want to make us both feel awkward?”

Freya spun her caramel apple around. “You're over-thinking it.”

“What she said.” Merlin pointed to Freya.

“I know, I know, but, well, he should do things on his own time, and I don't want to rush him.” Gwen said. She sighed them, selected an apple and pulled the plastic pouch off. She nibbled at a caramel covered nut. “What about you and Gwaine, Merlin?”

“There is no Merlin and Gwaine.” Merlin said.

Freya muttered something that sounded a little but like 'There should be'. When Merlin squinted at her she took a big bite of her caramel apple and pointed at her mouth as if she couldn't possibly have spoken.

“What she said. “ Gwen said on a smile that turned soft and almost commiserating, as if there was something to commiserate over. “You work too much, Merlin, don't you want to have a little fun?”

“Why is it over investment in work as an alpha is a sign of being a good provider, something to be lauded, but in omega it's a sign I need to be laid?” Merlin said grouchily.

“Merrrrlin,” Gwen lolled on her chair. “You know that isn't what I'm saying.”

“What are you saying then?”

“I'm saying... you haven't had so much as a one night stand since I've met you. You're going to be thirty. I mean...don't you want your partner? You can't tell me you aren't interested. ”

“It is a choice, thank you.” Merlin said firmly. “And I choose not. Interest is irrelevant.”

 

It turned out that Gwen hadn't needed to worry. About two weeks later she did indeed begin to date Dr. Helios, though he was a busy man and their dates were squeezed in between shifts at offices, clinics and the college. Gwen was bubbly with her new relationship, and often would report the amazing exploits of Dr. Helois at length. As neither Merlin nor Freya had met him, excepting Merlin's peep through the doorway at Halloween they listened avidly.

It seemed Dr. Helios was keeping things on the down-low, seeing as he was recently divorced and his children had yet to come to terms with that let alone 'Auntie Gwen'. It didn't seem to bother Gwen overmuch, though she glowed with such luster Merlin wasn't sure how the general public could be ignorant of her relationship.

Merlin was not jealous.

ᴥ

 _Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

_Subject: Martin, Siohan_

_Sexugender./Physiogender: Malpha/Female_

_Orientation: Heterosexual_

_Marital Status: Married, unbonded._

_The less people know, the more off balance they are. It's all to your advantage, all the guessing, the lack of certainty, their minds focused on figuring your sexugender out, rather than paying close attention to what you say or do . It's a tool, a powerful one. Why would you give it away?_

ᴥ

Merlin's visits to Finna remained constant during the year. Iced tea on her porch became hot toddys or coco in her parlor as the weather began its slow and inevitable turn from summer glare to autumn bluster. They had long discussions, argued theory or recent assertions by their various colleagues. After Merlin's New York trip and he began putting together his research, he brought the proofs and drafts over for Finna to edit. Those nights they remained late, deep in conversation. Usually the time would get away from them, and Finna would make souffles or risotto for dinner. She'd name some little known studies or obscure facts to reference in the massive encyclopedia which was her head.

As Merlin's apartment was feeling a bit cold of late, this worked well for him. He was excited to share his work as well, to discuss the ramifications. Of course, there too came the talk of what his next project would be, but he begged off, unable to contemplate a further place until after this study was published. He hoped it would be a nice feather in his cap, and get him funding for bigger projects, but Merlin didn't want to count his chickens before they hatched.

There was also his sleep, which, as the semester wore on, proved to be laden with dreams he couldn't quite remember, many of them rather clearly erotic. In part, Merlin admitted, they were causing him more and more to consider trying to bed Gwaine; his libido appeared to have gone mad. Understandable, since he was reaching his sexual prime, but still. He was living on a diet of uneven sleep and masturbation. Not to fantasies of Gwaine, though. No point in stroking it while imagining someone who was reachable. It would only make him want more, and feel all the more frustrated in not having when he could, if only he _could._ Something he was not going to explain to Gwen, who was actively shipping them, having given the hideous name Merwaine.

Not wanting to add any more kindling to the Merwaine fire, Merlin had turned instead to his favorite celebrity fantasy with greater frequency, which was far safer. He never needed to worry about having to turn down Arthur Pendragon, because when was he ever going to meet him? Delicious blonde Arthur. Granted he was the son of Senator Uther Pendragon which was a detraction to the package, but Merlin worked around it.

Merlin's opinion of Senator Pendragon was thus; he was a sexist, odious, pandering, smug, backwards, repellant supremest. His political platform was something from a hundred years ago, and he threw in God's name just enough to convince the religious to vote bible, but without the conviction of a man who believed in anything the book had to offer except its capacity to achieve votes. His latest design had been an omega database, requiring omegas to register when they gendered. To help them of course, to care for the weaker members of society and keep them safe.

It was really nothing more than an attempt to ostracize, control and paint omegas as inferior, and not even a well hidden one. Thankfully the idea had tanked due to scads of negative public opinion except for a very small but vocal minority. From there, Uther tried to remove suppressants, birth control and abortion from the hands of breeders totally. To him, Breeder's Lib had been a step in the wrong direction.

Ordinarily, the spawn of a man could only be viewed with hesitant suspicion. However, Arthur, when you paid attention to what he actually said or participated in, clearly did not share his father's beliefs. Oh, he was a gorgeous, if indolent and self involved playboy type alpha, but he was used more by Uther's publicity machine than he participated. He'd spent his early college years posing for a lot of magazines, since he was gorgeous and rich, one of the social trendsetters. For a few years he went back, then, more mature, he took over one of his father's businesses. Now GQ did stories about him in chic suits, and he was photographed going to charity galas instead of hot parties at trendy nightclubs.

As a friend of Olaf's, Merlin did have to put up with Uther's not infrequent presence at Albion U. He campaigned at the college, had been a guest speaker, was given an award of some kind and generally featured in events that would force Merlin to applaud him.

He got a tiny measure of revenge, though.

It gave Merlin obscene amounts of petty pleasure to clap for Uther with the full knowledge that about two hours earlier, he'd been masturbating to pictures of Uther's unattached alpha son Arthur.

He knew it was juvenile and perverse, but then Merlin had never claimed to be sainted.

It worked out quite well, really. Arthur was just Merlin's type, malpha, fit and blond with a bit of dry wit to him, if the interviews were anything to go by. He was also insanely unattainable, which meant Merlin would not to have to suffer the crushing discovery that he couldn't bed Arthur if by some fabulous confluence the option was offered and it was just barely feasible that they might meet, so Merlin's lush fantasy life had free rein.

And it was galloping.

ᴥ

 

The staff Christmas party found Merlin, Gwen and Freya in much the same position as they had been seven months earlier; standing to the side and watching Vivian stalking her prey. The white elephant game had been played, and now people were milling around and chatting, waiting for Olaf to make his Christmas speech so they could leave. Merlin was now the proud owner of a novelty apron with a woman with ridiculously huge boobs in an American flag bikini. Gwen had a mag light, Freya a gift card for Starbucks and Gwaine a candle scented like apple pie which he seemed oddly attached to. Hopefully he would add Merlin's horrendous apron to his haul. He could take it back to Ireland and bemoan the oddity of Americans. Anything so that it didn't darken Merlin's door.

Gwen had nine fingers out as they were trying to figure out how many people from Albion had slept with Vivian. Why this endured as their forced staff function entertainment, Merlin couldn't say.

“We've forgotten the runner. The one that tried for the Olympics,” Merlin added.

Gwen added another finger. “Blech students...I know it isn't illegal or even unethical, not really, but it's still gross.”

“Professor Collin's son.” Merlin added

Gwen closed her hands, starting anew with one finger raised. “That's eleven...you know Merlin, for being as non-judgmental as you claim to be, how is it you know more of her marks than Freya and I?”

“I'm not judging her. She's free to do whatever she wants with anyone she wants with that frequency she likes. She's fascinating, really. I'd do a paper on her but her father would have me sterilized.”

“A paper...” Freya sent a speculating look to the subject of their conversation.“On Vivian?”

“She's a rarity. She doesn't take into account sexuality in the slightest. Out of the- what, eleven?”

Gwen shook her head. “Twelve. I've thought of another. Myror in campus security.”

“Of the twelve, that's....four alphas, three omegas, and five betas. That's in basic line with population distribution. She's not seeking out a specific sexuality, though this is just a closed sample on our campus, not taking her weekends into account.”

“Ew, Merlin! You're keeping track?” Gwen hid the laughter behind her cup of alcohol free wassail. Her eyes were glistening with mirth though, so Merlin wasn't fooled.

“For Science, duh. The point is, most notably promiscuous people tend to go for a type- alphas usually. Her father is obsessed with alpha culture, it would make sense for her to be shopping around for one of those, but she isn't.” Merlin shrugged. “She'd be an interesting study.”

“Merlin. You need a boyfriend. Thirteen! Remember the board member who got divorced?”

“Why can't she just be a whore?” Freya wondered. Gwen had just taken a sip of her drink and almost spat it across the room. Merlin snorted abruptly, but tried to muffle it, so it turned into a coughing fit. When he had his breath he was wheezing out laughter.

“Oh my God, Freya!” Gwen said, mopping her face of dribbles.

Freya shrugged. “My father is very loquacious on the topic of whores, though he really means any breeder who sleeps with anyone outside of wedlock is a whore. He once read a guest sermon at our church about whores.”

“I can't- stop saying that word, you're giving me the worst processing errors!” Merlin wiped his eyes of tears.

“What, whore?”  
“Yes!”

“Sorry.”

“It's okay, I just-” Merlin sucked a breath. “It's a bit weird hearing it from your mouth.”

“Actually, speaking of whores,” Gwen said cheerfully and Merlin groaned out another laugh. “Guess who has herself a date to Professor Bishop's famous New Year's Bash? This girl!”

“You slut!” Merlin said happily. “We're finally going to get to meet Dr. Helios?”  
Gwen was smiling, swaying back and forth. “Terence has promised to clear his schedule in advance since he missed the Christmas Carnival.”

“Terence Helios. He actually has diplomas that say that? Ow!” He rubbed his arm from whence Gwen had punched him, Freya leaning calmly out of the way.

“Yes. He does. And he's a very good doctor. He's divorced, handsome and doesn't have any visible tattoos.”

“Oo, classy stuff that,” Merlin teased.

“Vivian is trying to grope Gwaine.” Freya said.

That effectively silenced Merlin and Gwen who blurted out a tandem 'what?!' their heads swiveled into the crowd. It wasn't difficult to find Gwaine's lustrous head of hair, and Vivian's bright blonde standing very close indeed. Her hand was lingering near crotch level. Gwaine, with his candle under his arm, was laughing while he scooped spinach dip onto his plate and Vivian eyefucked him unrepentantly.

Merlin stiffened a moment, but forced himself to calm. They'd probably make each other very happy, two ships passing in the night, each on their own courses.

“Oh wow...” Gwen murmured. “Oh Merlin, I'm so sorry,”

Merlin frowned and glanced at her. “What for?”

Gwen jerked her head towards the pair. “Gwaine.”

“What about him?”

“Isn't...I mean...don't you...aren't you...you know?”

“We've been over this, Gwen. We're just friends.”

“Oh. That's it?”

“Did you want more?”

“No, just...I somehow expected...you know, by now...” Gwen trailed off.

Merlin shrugged. “Well, it isn't.”

“But he's been, I mean, not that your company isn't wonderful, Merlin, but he has been rather courteous towards you, don't you think?”

“Now he's being courteous to Vivian.”

“Merlin, I know you can't really be this...this blasé.”

“Maybe we could not talk about this?” Merlin said, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose.

“We never talk about this.” Gwen said. “Don't you think we should?”

“But...if Merlin doesn't want to...” hazarded Freya, looking between them.

“It's just...you've been working so hard Merlin, and Gwaine and...I just think maybe you need, you know...” Gwen at least tried to be delicate about it.

It wasn't the time or the place, really, and both of them knew it. They had a brief staring contest in which Gwen tried to use her eyes to apologize but still press her concerns and Merlin tried to tell her to leave it alone. Eventually they made some unspoken agreement to drop it.

Apparently feeling the need to break the tension, Freya decided to drop her bombshell. “ I'm going to Spring Gathering...” She murmured in her far off way, rolling her glass between flat palms.

Now Gwen and Merlin's heads swiveled cartoonishly towards her and Merlin set aside worrying about Vivian and Gwaine.

“What?” They said in astonished unison. Again.

Freya shrugged. She drained her glass.

“Freya...are you sure?” Gwen asked carefully.

Freya nodded. “It's time.” She said with some of the mystical surety she possessed in sporadic moments. “I'm tired of the seons. And sleeping alone. I think I want a husband. And to get laid.”

Merlin sighed. He didn't mean to, but it slipped out. He felt Freya's eyes on him at once.

“No one is forcing me, Merlin.” She reminded him in her silky voice.

“I know, I'm sorry.”

“I'm choosing to go.”

“Don't listen to him.” Gwen said firmly. “Having a libido is a perfectly healthy thing, so is wanting a life partner.”

“I never said it wasn't.” Merlin pointed out.

“No, just implied it. Some of us aren't as self contained as you are, Merlin.”

“Please don't fight.” implored Freya. “I hate it when you fight.”

The sound of a microphone being tapped disturbed them. He and Gwen shot each other looks and then turned their attention towards the room's head.

Olaf had gained the podium and after testing the sound system pulled some cards from his jacket pocket. He smiled at them with all the gladness of someone pleased to have all the attention in the room on them, regardless of who those people were. So began another Christmas speech.

ᴥ

As it turned out, Dr. Terence Helios was not to be introduced to everyone. It was a close thing. Merlin had been getting ready for the famous Bishop New Year's party when Gwen called in tears. It seemed Terence's 'divorced' status had been stretching things a bit. Well, a lot. Or, completely. Terence and his wife weren't even separated, as it happened. Gwen found this out when Terence arrived to pick her up for the party and not two minutes later his wife was hammering on Gwen's door in a screaming tirade. Apparently Terence had told her he needed to work, and not being stupid, she hadn't bought it. She'd tailed him all the way to Gwen's and put things together quickly.

What Merlin got from Gwen's crying explanations was that the following scene was far from pretty and he had to tamp down an urge to find Dr. Terence Helios and cut his balls off. With any luck his wife was doing it for him. Not that she was a prize either, as she'd called Gwen a number of choice names despite Gwen not knowing Dr. Helios was still married.

Directly he hung up with Gwen Merlin issued a text to Gwaine excusing himself from the party. He wasn't worried about Gwaine, who could probably find inappropriate fun to be had at a wake.

As quickly as he could Merlin drove to Gwen's where he joined Freya in doing his best to comfort Gwen. She was a mess, still in her party dress, mascara running down her cheeks, and crying about how she would never, ever find love.

They made New Year's resolutions at midnight. Freya resolved she was going to try harder to get shown in a gallery. Gwen swore off men, but she'd consumed almost an entire bottle of champagne and a few shots by that time, so Merlin didn't think she really meant it. He resolved to keep his opinions to himself. Freya and Gwen laughed in such a way he suspected they didn't have a lot of faith he'd be able to do it.

A new term started in January. Merlin was gratified to see a number of returning students to his classes and not only those with a psychology or sociology major, who he was bound to get anyway, but kids who trickled in for various reasons and found his classes informative and interesting.

Gwen appeared to be to be taking her New Year's resolution to heart, although the fuss with Dr. Helois seemed not to have diminished her faith in romance in general. She was aiding Freya in her early planning stages for Spring Run with fervor. This involved a lot of research on the best way to handle the Gathering which was the single largest mating run in North America. Registering early was vital, and both Merlin and Gwen were surprised to learn that Freya had been registered with the Unity Association since October.

He and Gwen never continued their discussion on significant others, which Merlin was grateful for, though every now and then when the topic turned to Spring Run Gwen would shoot him a significant look but held her tongue.

He had enough to worry about. Sloshy spring weather and a car that suddenly went on the fritz in protest. Staring at Gwaine during committee meetings. Putting the finishing touches on his articles, and working out a new pitch for an even larger study. Bad dreams. Avoiding mating talk. Avoiding Cenred. Finna came down with the flu, and for a while Merlin was over there constantly with the unspoken fear it would devolve into pneumonia. Trying not to be home alone a lot because he always just seemed to end up masturbating and it made him feel strange, as if he were seventeen again, and Merlin had no wish to return to those years.

Instead, he kept busy as possible, volunteering for more hours at the crisis hotline, working on more lesson plans than he'd ever need. It was coming time to select new texts for his classes, so for weeks he threw himself into the quandary of just purchasing the new edition for the old text or trying something new.

All in all, winter flew by. Valentine's Day was celebrated with a pot-luck at Finna's for Merlin, Gwen and Freya with a host of screwball romantic comedies which seemed to keep everyone distracted, except for when Gwen burst into tears in the middle of _The Philadelphia Story_. Finna knew just what to do, however, and had her calmed down rather quickly.

March was marred by a student suicide. A malpha, Gregory Goyle. While not common, student suicides were not unheard of. College was an emotional time, and things could easily spin out of control, especially if the new environment was a fair distance from the student's former support group.

Merlin helped organized the memorial, though he always found candlelight vigils strange. No one had cared much about the kid when he was alive, and now he no longer needed the support it came in a monumental outflow. People who had probably never met him wept for his passing.

For about two weeks the campus was subdued with their mourning, but slowly things got back into motion as winter became spring and the end of the year neared.

ᴥ

It was a beautiful April day, perfectly warm, and the Oak Park amphitheater had been transformed to the 4th Annual Angel Foundation AIDS Jell-o Wrestling Extravaganza! This involved a lot of crepe paper, a bake sale, slightly limp barbeque lunch and a rather large square 'ring' constructed of plywood, blow up rafts, and the ladder from a doughboy built right in front of the little cement amphitheater. It was five dollar to watch, and people filled the rows of bleachers

By coaxing or luck, they had signed up eight women to participate, so they had organized four matches, a semi final and a championship match, the winner of which would end up with a small plastic trophy spray painted red. As Gwen pointed out, it was raising money that mattered, not being the champion dessert frolicker. Then there was going to be a surprise bonus match in between the final and semi-finals so as to give all finalists time to rest, which was not much of a surprise to Merlin since he knew it meant the only two men who'd signed up would wrestle. This included Gwaine.

Because Gwen was a participant, the group staked out space in the bleachers early, and got a good spot front and center. When the wrestling commenced it was to the enthusiastic shouting of the crowd as women flung themselves into the Jell-o, churning up the stripes of color into a rainbow hodgepodge.

It was less bar-room brawl type exploitation, since many of the women were older. Several were medical professionals or otherwise related to the charity, one was even the mother of a frail looking man who got a bad transfusion.

Despite the fact that the topic matter was a bit depressing, energy was high. The crowd was enthusiastic and swelled with people. They ate grilled hot dogs and pop corn and tried not to choke themselves with laughter. The wrestlers often collapsed into giggling.

At last, Gwen had to report to the ring.

“Wish me luck!” she said, grinning.

“Good luck, Doc!” Gwaine gave her a peck on the cheek that made Gwen blush.

“Bring home a championship!” Merlin encouraged.

“It's in the bag,” Gwen grinned and headed over.

 

When she stripped off her T-Shirt to show off the bikini she and Freya had spent hours shopping for (it had to be 'wrestle-proof' so that at no moment would she accidentally flash the spectators) it was to a number of hoots and hollers. Gwen blushed. She'd also bought a mouthguard, wanting to be safe. It matched her bikini.

“Annnnd now, in one corner Doctor Guinevere Smith of the Thomas Clinic!” The announcer/referee was wearing a bow tie in a frankly offensive color between neon yellow and green. He thought he was far more entertaining than he actually was, but thankfully the crappy portable sound system was cutting out at random intervals, so half his commentary was lost during the previous matches.

Gwen climbed into the Jell-O pit over whistles, especially Gwaine's which were the loudest. She made a face as her feet sunk into it, mouth wide in an expression of amused horror.

Gwen's first fight was easily won in under three minutes. This won her a place in the semi-finals. That fight was not simple. After Gwen climbed back into the Jell-o her opponent, Britta Perry, slithered in, a blonde betafem in a black one piece. She didn't get so many hoots, except from one corner of the amphitheater.

“Alright Ladies, let's have a clean fight!” The ref said teasingly. He rang the bell and Gwen and Britta charged.

It was not a clean fight.

It started out decently enough, with the women hesitantly grappling with each other, clearly a little grossed out by the consistency of the gelatin under foot. They were timid, almost, unsure of how gung-ho the other was going to get, gripping each other by the elbows and trying to throw the other off her balance.

This sated the crowd for a little while, with a few calls of 'Come on Gwen!' or “Go Britta!' as they each got bolder and bolder, pushing a little harder. Gwen had a look of furious concentration on her face that flipped to wide eyed surprise when Britta twisted, and sent Gwen tumbling face first into the Jell-O.

Freya winced. “Ewwww..”

“Come On Gwen!” Merlin shouted. “Take her down!”

It was on. Gwen's eyes narrowed and she surged at Britta's legs, wrapping her arms around her knees so Britta sat back with a big squelch. She barely had time to grimace before Gwen climbed on top of her and rubbed a handful of green Jell-O cubes on her face.

“Oh ho ho! Looks like the cats are at play! Meeow!” The ref chimed in.

Britta let out an angry shriek and dove at Gwen, who was struggling to her feet. Gwen's eyes widened comically as she hobbled to get out of the way, but it was to no avail. Britta tackled. They went rolling, a mess of damp Jell-Oy limbs, shrieks and flying hair until they smashed into one of the blow up rafts stuck along the sides. The plastic squeaked as they rubbed up against it, each trying to stand and knocking the other down before she could get her feet under her.

“Well, Merlin. You do take a bloke to the best parties,” Gwaine said, draping an arm over Merlin's shoulders, though he didn't tear his gaze from the ring.

“You do know you go in there next, right?”

“Oh, I've not forgotten,” Gwaine grinned at him, then winked. “Promise you'll cheer the loudest for me, then? Help me get the proper vim to give my challenger a good, slick hiding?”

Merlin felt a little bubble of excitement in his chest. The way Gwaine said slick went right to his knees. “No promises.” he said hoarsely, but it only made Gwaine's smile turn a little filthy.

The crowd gave a shout. Merlin turned and saw Gwen and Britta had ceased trying to stand, and were back to rolling around and wallowing in the Jell-o, struggling to put the other in a headlock. The Jell-o squished loudly under the sounds of their grunts. They were good and coated in rainbow streaks of squished gelatin, which meant they were slipping and sliding over one and other. It was hard to grip, and the inflated walls meant anywhere they braced against they had a good chance of slipping off of. The shout appeared to be for Britta, whose legs were thrown wide open, trying to find purchase, humping the air. She was screaming something unintelligible, and snapped her legs closed, going deep red with embarrassment. She flailed wildly until a casual brush had her catching hold of Gwen's braid. She clutched it and yanked.

Gwen screamed, releasing Britta to reach for her head.

“Foul! Foul!” Merlin cried. “Boooo!”

“You mancing asleep, Ref?” Gwaine bellowed.

“Now ladies,” The ref said, but neither one appeared to be listening.

Gwen leaped at Britta, and they went rolling and squirming, bouncing off the opposite side of the ring, and then working their way back. There were more desperate grunts and bellows as they grappled, hurling each other into the pit with aggression and mighty feminine roars of adrenaline fueled competition. Britta's head was almost stained green from being buried in the green stripe, and Gwen's bikini bottoms bulged in the back where a handful of Jello had been wedged down her crack, making it look like she was walking around having crapped herself.

The fervor of the crowd had raised to a cacophony of cheers the longer it went, going frantic when one would manage to pin the other, shouting the count with the ref. First it was Britta, smashing Gwen against the raft, and then Gwen got Britta into a full nelson, until Britta's frantic rolling dislodged her.

By now they were panting, but neither looked ready to forfeit. After the last near pinning they retreated to opposite corners to catch their breath.

“Wow...” Freya said. “This is intense.”

Gwen pulled out her mouth guard to aide her breathing. Britta took the opportunity and charged. The mouth guard went flying and once again they were a tangle of limbs, Gwen slamming into the Jell-o. She gave a shriek of anger and kicked at Britta. A scoop of Jell-o went flinging out towards the crowd which recoiled, but got spattered anyway. Gwen was stuck spread eagle this time and Britta crowed at her.

Even from this distance Merlin could see Gwen get the look. The terrifying determined look, and if he were Catholic he would have crossed himself for Britta. There was no escape now.

Britta was on her hands and knees above Gwen, climbing up. Swift as Disney litigation Gwen's thighs snapped shut around Britta's neck. This wedged Britta's face more or less into Gwen's crotch. The sudden turn towards more blatant homoerotic groping made the crowd go wild, hooting and shrieking. Britta gave a muffled outraged protesting sound and battered at Gwen, smacking at her wildly as she thrashed to get up, stirring up the jell-o, sending handfuls of it over the sides of the ring. Gwen grabbed the wrists as they passed by and pinned them. Britta bucked, and they wriggled back and worth, rocking a hole into the jell-o so they were slowly sinking.

A hyperactive Asian man from the Britta corner shrieked “Eat that dark pussy Britta, Yeah!”

The crowd counted with the ref in one exuberant voice. One. Two. Three!

There was an explosive cheer. Gwen released Britta who threw herself away, panting. Gwen thrust herself to her feet, raising orange and red smeared arms up in victory to the crowd.

“ For the fourth annual Angel Foundation AIDS Jell-o Wrestling Extravaganza, our championship round will be between Doctor Guinevere Smith and RN Margaret Houlihaaaan!” There was applause. “Buuut, before that...we have a special bonus round!”

Merlin and Freya met Gwen as she climbed out, Merlin with a fresh towel.

“Thank you, Merlin, you're an angel.” She said, grabbing one and mopping her body hastily. “This stuff is disgusting!”

“You did really well.” Freya said. She was wearing latex gloves and was picking chunks of Jell-o out of Gwen's hair. “I think you'll win the championship.”  
“Something to tell the grandchildren, that,” Gwaine teased.

Gwen pointed a finger at him. “You, Sir, are in there next.”

“Only the once, thankfully.” Gwaine said on a chuckle, distracted by one of the event organizers gesturing to him.

The announcer stirred his hands getting the crowd to cheer, which they did rather uncertainly until Gwaine winked at Merlin, then hopped onstage to drag his shirt off. Then the screams and catcalls began anew, for Gwaine, and the tall man with the terrifying eyebrows who had also climbed up, another malpha, a Derek Hale.

This match was more violent. The crowd made more pained sounds as the men dove at one and over, sparing each other no mercy, hurling one and other into the smushy jell-o sludge.

Merlin could barely blink for fear of losing vital seconds of watching Gwaine and the other malpha roll around, muscles stretching, expressions furrowed. They slammed each other into the sides of the ring so hard it rattled and the ref nervously asked them to take it easy. They grappled, slipping, but never moving into unsportsmanlike territory.

Gwaine lost, but then, Derek Hale had a good half a foot on him. He stayed in much longer than anyone thought, and the display left Merlin's mouth dry.

Gwaine climbed over the wooden edge of the pit, crumpled squiggles of Jell-o sticking all over his legs and abdomen. Merlin watched a clump of lime green slide down his navel in jerky starts, until it tumbled off him. The moisture from the gelatin made his briefs stick, and oh what he saw made Merlin's formerly desolate mouth practically water.

He dared to lift his gaze to Gwaine's face as he headed towards him and the towel he held. Gwaine was staring at him, eyes hot, a smoky anticipation filling his features as well as adrenaline. He strode, ignoring his pile of clothes Freya had folded and extended to him, and the cheering women, right over to Merlin, going toe to toe with him.

Merlin felt frozen, quivering with desire. All he could do was stare as Gwaine dipped in close, until their noses were almost touching.

“If I'd have known all I had to do to get you in bed was roll around in dessert and lose a fight to another bloke, Merlin, I'd have done it six months ago.” Then Gwaine kissed him, and Merlin's knees buckled a little under the hot slant of mouth covering his.

He heard Gwen squeak in glee.

Then the announcer said something.

When Gwaine let him go, Gwen was heading up for her championship round.

 

They went out for obligatory celebratory drinks, Gwen with her little red trophy, proud as could be. She smelled like cherry jell-o. She was also merciful, and after that one drink, she let Merlin and Gwaine go, a knowing smile on her features.

Merlin shot her a looking hoping to communicate both his thanks and his fervent plea she would never say 'I told you so'.

At the prospect of sex, his body seemed to have lit up like a porn mag doused in kerosene. As they climbed into Gwaine's car and Gwaine slid his hand on Merlin's knee his low grade arousal simmering since Gwaine climbed out of the ring, flared up. Merlin let that unbidden corner of himself open up, let the want he so rarely acknowledged existed blossom and ride through his system. He could barely remember the ride to Gwaine's apartment, only as soon as Gwaine got his front door open, Merlin launched himself at the Irishman, letting all that want fuel him.

He knew it made him almost obscenely eager, though Gwaine's groan from under him showed no signs of revulsion. He was cupping Merlin's bottom, fingers pressing into the muscle, nearly making Merlin go weak at the knees at the prospect of being covered by warm, thrusting male. It was every stereotype he hated, and everything he wanted.

They stumbled through the apartment, dodging mess, fumbling past the couch toward the bedroom. Hands were everywhere, caressing. The base part of Merlin's brain was taking over, but rather than being disgusted some part of him rejoiced. God, he wanted to fuck and be fucked, was giddy with the real and tangible prospect of it.

Except...

He tried to ignore it, at first. As they made it to bed, Gwaine sitting then dragging Merlin on top of him while he kicked off his shoes. Merlin slanted his mouth slanted over Gwaine's, letting Gwaine take what he wanted and returning greedily. He'd been lost in the kisses at first, but now found some distant part of his mind saying that this didn't taste right. Not bad, not unpleasant, but not right. Merlin ignored it. Focused all his thoughts on Gwaine's tongue pressing in and out of his mouth, emulating what he wanted so much. He clutched Gwaine's hips with his knees, grinding on him.

Gwaine's hands looped around, undoing the fastenings to Merlin's trousers, cinching them down with his underwear. He cupped the petite curve of Merlin's aching cock. Merlin pulled his mouth away to moan, head tilting back as Gwaine's hands edged around behind. Found him moist, and there was Merlin's secret, out.

“So nice and wet for me,” Pride curled in Gwaine's tones as he dipped fingers between Merlin's cheeks and touched. He didn't look surprised in the least. His chin tilted up and he smiled up at Merlin.

Merlin wriggled in response, biting his lip against any further all-too-exuberant sounds and the tiny seed of unease. He wanted to be here. He wanted Gwaine!

“Been a long time, hasn't it?”

“Yesss...”

Gwaine was stroking over his hole, and it made it hard to think, but Merlin looked down at the handsome face that wore a confident smirk. Not wanting to tell Gwaine he was a bloody virgin. Calling back the image of Gwaine, fresh from wrestling. Handsome Gwaine.

Merlin cupped Gwaine's cheek, the stubble a wonderful, bristly texture under his palm.

So handsome.

Why wasn't it enough?

Gwaine's fingers penetrated him, slid in and Merlin's thighs tightened, bringing him upwards. God, he wanted! He wanted so badly!  
But it didn't matter. When Gwaine leaned in to kiss him again the wrongness of the taste pervaded his mouth as if he'd eaten something sour, and Merlin broke away almost immediately. The smell too, the heady pungent perfume of lust which had been making his head dizzy with lust was now suffocating him with it's alien wrongness. A spurt of sickly fear lanced through him. He couldn't do this. How could he do this? It felt as if his stomach had dropped out, forced down by mounting nausea. Terror made his prick go limp, only he wasn't sure why he was so frightened, frightened and repulsed by Gwaine's body. Gwaine's body which he had been trying not to imagine for so long.

He saw Gwaine's face go concerned, the fingers pulling out of him, leaving him bereft in more ways than one. Merlin sucked razor tipped breaths, trying to compose himself.

“Merlin? What's wrong?”

“I'm sorry-Gwaine...I...I thought- I hoped-I'm sorry--” He coltishly thrust off Gwaine's lap and onto rubbery legs.

“Merlin-”

“So-fucking—sorry--”

Gwaine caught his forearms and pulled him near to look into his face.

“You wanted this.” He said, confused.

Merlin nodded, hating the frustrated tears he could feel crest and smear down his cheeks. “I did. I do. I just-I can't.”

And he grabbed his clothes, held up his trousers with one hand and fled the apartment.

ᴥ

Merlin spent the weekend hiding out at home. He did much the same the next week of school, staying no longer than was needed and not being in all the places Gwaine would anticipate him being in. This didn't stop Gwaine from texting him, and calling. Merlin didn't pick up to the calls, and eventually shot off a text that he wasn't angry with Gwaine, that he'd talk to him later.

It was immature, Merlin knew, avoiding the issue. But he was too embarrassed to bring it up. Too horrified by yet another failed attempt at a sexual liaison. Worse still, he couldn't talk to Gwen or Freya about it, since they'd been there and knew how enthusiastic he'd been.

Which was how Merlin found himself at Finna's the following Friday. It was not hiding out. He helped her in the kitchen making strawberry jam. It was hot and smelled of fruit and sugar, and was comforting in a domestic way.

Finna let him viciously decapitate almost a pound of fruit before prompting him to talk. So Merlin did. He told her about Gwaine, how he'd been trying not to notice, how he knew all the things that could go wrong at a school with such faintly hidden sexism. He told her about the aborted attempt at sex, about fleeing, but couldn't bringing himself to talk of the sudden and inexplicable disgust he sensed. Away from the moment, his surety othat he should not be with Gwaine sounded ridiculous.

Finna listened quietly, stirring all her pots, and then pouring the steaming contents into sanitized jars. She didn't speak until she was done washing the pots.

“Merlin...” Finna removed her glasses and folded them closed as she eased down to sit across from him at the tiny kitchen table. Merlin knew it was a sign she was going to speak baldly, and that he might not like it. She braced the tip of the glasses against her mouth for a moment, looking at him before sliding them into her apron pocket.

“Merlin. I've never questioned the choices you have made for your life. They are, of course, your choices to make, without my judgment. If you will allow me my observations, however...?”

Merlin sighed, then nodded. He made a gesture for her to carry on.

“Your life is admirable, you are a remarkable man with a superior brain. Your path lies with continuing to study and report and change how we regard each other. As you go now, you will always be a mind to be admired. A noteworthy social scientist.”

Merlin squirmed under the praise, but sensed an addendum.

“But, you will never be great. Not as you could be. Should be. You lack the warmth of understanding and experience. Whatever your orientation, Merlin, from the moment you came to work for me I have known you were a virgin. I thought you were perhaps a late bloomer, shy, focused on your studies. Unready. I know you better now, Merlin. You are more than ready. You are over-ripe. One doesn't have to look hard to see your frustrated need and yet at the same time an underscoring of disdain for it, undeniable fear, and, even more pressingly...a fundamental loneliness amongst the lack of understanding. You cannot write or study about sex, Merlin, and never have had it. Nor relationships and never had one.“

Merlin sat stiff and silent. She didn't look sympathetic, and that was a mercy. Her eyes were warm, understanding. Still, Merlin felt cramped and under scrutiny. Cold at her words. Perhaps on some level he'd well known it was a bit hypocritical, but really, Merlin aspired to equal regard. One did not need to have been sexed up to know that people should be equal.

“If I thought that you abstained for lack of desire, I would never say this. It isn't my place. But that isn't it. It's fear, yes, but, there is something else, isn't there? “ Finna said.

“Going to bed with someone wouldn't change how I feel. I don't see how it makes a difference.” Merlin grumbled lamely.

“If it would not change you, then why not? What prevented you from letting Gwaine take you to bed? You know you don't need to bond with him, Merlin. What is it that stops you?”

“I just-” Merlin ground around, trying to find the words to explain.

Finna let him sit in his juices, muttering partial explanations for several minutes. At last he caved. He tried to tell her about the wrongness, the smell, the indescribable press from his gut that it was all wrong until Finna interrupted.

“You experiencing Psyche's Syndrome.”

“Psyche's Syndrome is a theory at best.” Merlin waved a hand dismissively.

“A theory. You are a fully mature unbonded omega who has lived, what, upwards of ten years on blockers?”

“Twelve.” Merlin supplied.

“Twelve years. You've not gone through a proper heat since your adolescence then, I take it? In addition, you have taken no sexual partners because you fine others distasteful, do you not? They are not yours. So you remain celibate, not just unwilling to partner them, but unable.” Finna's eyes were sharp on him, and he just knew she was finding him a fascinating subject in addition to a friend who needed help.

“Celibacy is an admirable and valid life choice.” Merlin muttered, aware he sounded like a sullen teenager, but he felt very exposed.

Finna shook her head. “We chart not just the mind Merlin, but body and mind in harmony. We, more than a physician, tend the unit as a whole. Your body and mind are not in harmony. Your body knows what it yearns for, and if you are experiencing Psyche's Syndrome, no mere stand-in alpha will do. Only your unumverumconjunx.”

It sounded so loud in the kitchen. A word Merlin had tried so hard never to think of.

“Alphas do not possess the unverjunx instinct.” he said. “If I had an alpha ze would long since have selected another suitable partner. There's no reason to seek zer out now, I'd only be disappointed, be forced to quit my job and possibly start a messy divorce case. That would be three lives ruined.”

“Then what are these dreams, Merlin? For months you haven't been sleeping well. I refuse to believe you would be so remiss as to neglect the studies from Yale, Columbia or John Hopkins which are providing evidence of some manner of spiritual bond between specific partner sets. The Unumverumconjunx might come more readily to the omega, but the alpha is not untouched.” Finna said pointedly.

“I've read the studies.” Merlin shot back. “They're mostly inconclusive on the nature of the alpha. Omegas select their mate on the basis of genetic compatibility coded in the scent, as they have more Q cells than alphas it is probably that is what they are sensing, not some psychic unverjunx nonsense. Only 13% of the Alphas in the study identified what might be the Unumverumconjunx, and only then marking it as a faint dissatisfaction in other partners. Full awareness of this sensation only came when when the bonded omega was in estrus, during which all alpha's suffer diminished capacity and are therefore unreliable.”

“That's only the Yale study. The Columbia one was much larger, and estimates a quarter. Your alpha could be in that 25%.”

Merlin rubbed his face, having no response to that. He started as he felt her warm hands grasp his, pull them away from his eyes so his gaze would meet hers.

“You can't go on like this.”

She was right, really. Oh, he could argue and fight with facts, war with data...but if he was honest (and he'd been trying for years not to be) this wasn't going to go away.

“What do I do, Finna?” Merlin said softly.

She watched him for some time. He looked at his hands, at the pale fingers laced together and blotched with strawberry juice. He looked up when her chair creaked and she rose. Finna left the room. He listened and heard the rustle of a drawer.

When she came back she sunk back into her chair and handed him a manilla envelope. He raised his brows to her in question, but she only urged him on with a wave of the packet. Merlin took and opened it. He pulled out the papers, scanning them. Surprised flooded him.

“You..you registered me for Spring Run.” he said, shocked.

Finna nodded. “When Freya decided to go.”

Merlin rifled the papers. There was his name. Paid and registered.

“I...”He wasn't sure where to start. “I... I don't...”

“Merlin. Just go. Experience. Search. No one can make decisions for you. Only you know what you need. I just want you to find it, to seize it or leave it, but to face it and decide. It's time to face all the things you've been ignoring.”

And maybe, Merlin confessed to himself, that was true.

 


	2. Monitoring You

 

 

**Heart in a Headlock**

**Chapter Two: Monitoring You**

 

 _Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers; The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

_Subject: Lass, Regina_

_Sexugender./Physiogender: Femalpha/female_

_Orientation: Massexual_

_Marital Status: Monogamous Relationship, Unbonded._

_“My sister died when she was eighteen. I was eleven. She didn't get to do anything with her life. It was an accident that killed her; a toilet seat from a space station. Not even one in a billion._

_I realized later it didn't matter what she was, what anyone else thought she was. She lived, she died, whatever her sexugender it didn't matter. It mattered to my Mom. She wanted us to be what we were. It's why she was pushing my sister, to get out and find a mate and live somewhere else. In the end, it's all bullshit. Doing something because of what other people's expectations of behavior for your gender are is stupid. Better to live by your own standards than worry about anyone else. That way you have nothing to regret when the next toilet seat comes hurtling down.”_

 

Once it was acceptable to put their tray tables down after take-off, Freya had her Spring Run envelope opened with the contents spread over it. She was sifting through the assorted pamphlets and print-outs for what had to be the seventh time. Beside her, Merlin had his tray table down too, but he had his laptop out and was designing a flyer. Spring Run was a massive gathering of people, statistically there were bound to be some on blockers, or people who habitually used them and would return to a regimen after Spring Run. While he was there, he might as well nab a few last minute interviews. His eyes, however, kept straying to the mess of documents piled on Freya's table around her ginger ale.

“How do they expect you to go to all that?” Merlin asked. He hadn't looked at his own envelope since receiving it. It was in his suitcase. It was foolish, he knew, but he couldn't quite bring himself to wade through the documentation.

“They don't. Different sponsors host different events you pay admission for,” Freya said as she rifled around to hand Merlin some papers stapled together. “See? The UA is only responsible for Beltane and the picnic,”

Merlin looked at the paper with the Unity Association's logo, which was a symbolic knot and receptor. He resisted a snort, and glanced over the text, then frowned.

“Then why are you and your chaperone getting into the Spring Run Mixer and the Beltane Hop?”

Freya raised her brows, unsure, “Umm... ”

Merlin squinted at the writing and answered his own question. “Because they are thrown by UA's biggest sponsors; Mercia Pharmaceuticals, Trojan, and Grey Goose Vodka and we booked a room with the Hilton. Well. Glad to know we're having safe intoxicated sex.” Merlin handed the official papers back to Freya.

It seemed to have opened the floodgate, however. Now Freya plied him the brochures for many events all squeezed into the same week, most on the weekend. Church groups holding events for their denominations so all the Baptist omegas could get a look at all the Baptist alphas before Beltane and an Orthodox Jew mated with a Mormon. There were was a sheet with dozens of meetings for specialized interests, and Merlin wanted to go to the Spring Run Model Train Enthusiast Luncheon, the Beltane Encounter for Trekkies or the Midnight Knitting Circle to interview those attending. Was it viable? Was there partnering made at the American Horticultural Society's Spring Run Flower Show?

Perhaps Finna had been right, and Merlin should have come here years ago.

Perhaps.

The flight was absolutely packed. Merlin could pick out the unmated Alphas and Omegas easily, for they were jittery with nerves, excitement and the curling edges of the rut-scent that was going to explode in the next day or so. The chaperones, on the other hand, were serene. Gwen was snoring in her seat, her J.B. Fletcher book open across her chest. She'd been so excited for the both of them, though Merlin had firmly reminded her he was going for SCIENCE, thank you. He was not going off his blockers, not getting mated to some moron and therefore not in need of a chaperone. Not that chaperones were required, plenty of people came without, but for many having a level headed buddy along on the trip meant they would absolutely have someone to talk to and stop them from making enormous mistakes.

It didn't seem to make much difference to Gwen. For two weeks before the run she and Freya buzzed with excitement, shopping, planning, and packing. Sometimes it almost seemed like Gwen had forgotten Dr. Helios, which was a good thing.

“Which do you want to go to?” Freya asked, looking over an early morning yoga session pamphlet.

“I'll go wherever you decide. I might split off to do a few interviews, other than that I just want to observe. Follow you a bit. You don't mind, do you?”

“No. You are one of my chaperones,” Freya said, still examining papers. “Well, the mixer, the Picnic are definite... this yoga meeting sounds like a good way to center my energy.”

Merlin selected another of the flyers. “Freya, what did your parents think of this?” He hadn't asked yet, and Freya had pointedly not said anything about the reception she'd had at home regarding her decision to attend Spring Run

Freya handed him another flyer. “Erotic Spring Run artwork is on display at a gallery downtown. Maybe we could go see it,”

Not well, then.

“I'd like that,” Merlin said, and it was only a little fib since he doubted he was going to like abstract renderings of nipples, but for Freya? Anything. He picked up another brochure at random and changed the topic.

When the plane landed and taxied towards the terminal people began to get antsy. It had hardly stopped when passengers unbuckled their belts, removed their luggage from overhead compartments and stood up to wait in the aisles. It made things rather untidy.

Disembarking was another mess, since everyone was going to the exact same place. They all trooped off the plane and down to the baggage claim to wait until their possessions could be unloaded. Laden with luggage, they all trooped to the chartered buses. Here there was some small division, since Finna had kindly booked Merlin a room at the Hilton, instead of either the Spring Run compound or the campsites. Merlin was not looking for an earthy experience, and was grateful of a flush toilet.

Freya, Gwen and Merlin climbed onto the smaller bus, handing their luggage off to a suited driver who loaded them into the cargo hold. There weren't many people on the bus, so they had their pick of seats. Gwen was still a little bleary eyed and she promptly let her head hang on Freya's shoulder once they settled. She didn't rouse even when the bus began moving. Merlin had a window seat to himself and through it he watched green and distant mountains fly past.

As Merlin understood it, town that hosted Spring Run was a veritable ghost town the remainder of the year. The ranchers used it, a small number of locals, and assorted travelers or vacationers to the national park. The exception was during mating season. Then, residents rented out their fields, their houses, their barns for the huge influx of people who swamped the area. The Flint National Park, which included the Mating Grounds, had all camping sites filled to capacity, as well as the compound of rooms which abutted the park. The Hilton wasn't far, and excepting two small motel chains in town which had been there so long the drapes had to reek of 1960's cigarette smoke, it was the only hotel allowed. It was massive; over a thousand rooms. It seemed like a lot, but Finna had confided she'd gotten him one of the last available.

Gwen had wanted to camp, and had been all for her, Freya and Merlin splitting the slot fee and cobbling together gear when Freya first announced her intention. While the social scientist in Merlin would also have preferred to camp on the huge swathes of acreage for more immediate observation among the crowd to watch this event unfold, the cautionary part of him was less enthused. This was his first run since he was fifteen, and that had been a teeny local thing. He was sure that experince would do nothing to prepare him for a national run. Perhaps another year, when he was more acclimated, he'd camp. A thin layer of nylon was not going to deter a lust addled alpha hopped up on hormones who caught scent of Merlin's inevitable arousal. Merlin had no intention of being vulnerable in the open. When Beltane came he wanted to be able to retreat behind a door that locked.

And if Merlin was very, very honest, as much as lust addled alphas were a plausible threat (though they had chaperones and UA had hundreds of 'security facilitators') it was more his own reaction he found a little worrying. He didn't want to make any life altering mistakes.

Besides, even if he missed parts of Beltane, it still left two full days of events to observe, to see the merriment leading up to the hunt. Merlin had brought his notebooks, several recording devices and various other tools to help him collect his observations. He was anticipating a satisfying weekend, academically speaking.

He went over his plan of action as scenery flew by his window. They passed through the town, full of people. The tiny stores appeared to be doing brisk business, with lots of banners up to welcome everyone.

The Hilton had no such overt beacon. The massive structure sat a few miles out of town, visible for miles. When the bus arrived it disgorged its meager passengers into the hands of strained looking personnel and took off once more, back to the airport.

Inside a wide lobby Merlin waited in line at the front desk, keeping eye on their mound of luggage currently in the clutches of an older bellman. Freya and Gwen had gone to check in at the UA desk.

The desk clerk looked a little harried. She was probably a beta who'd been dealing with people who seemed to alternate between shades of restlessness, exuberance and irritation, so Merlin forgave her for being a bit short with him as he was processed.

In the end, he walked away with three electronic key cards. He left the bellman behind with their luggage to go find the girls. He also had to check in with the UA, but he didn't feel like it just at the moment. He wanted to go to their room, have a shower and get something to eat.

Merlin flagged down Freya and Gwen as they exited the large conference room being used for registration and check in. Freya was attaching a pink enameled pin shaped like ribbon with the date the bottom to her lapel. When Merlin really looked at the crowds of people moving around them, he saw others were sporting pins as well. The information from Freya's brochures flashed into his head. They gave out colored pins to help identify each other, as smell could get a bit muddled.

“Pink is femega?” He asked as he doled out their key cards on the way back to the bellman.

Gwen nodded and waved her own pin she was holding in her hand. “Black is beta or non-participant, pink is femega, red is momega, dark blue is malpha and light blue is femalpha.”

“Nothing for Chi, Mu or Theta?” He asked. Freya appeared not to be paying them any attention. She was watching the people roaming around. There was a lot of energy in the hotel and all the foot traffic seemed to be eying one and other.

Gwen shrugged. “Might be, but the big banner only had the five. Besides, Chi and Mu don't do heats or Runs.”

“Thetas do.”

“You can tell them how tragically unfair it is when you register. Let's find our room now.”

It was on the seventh floor, a queen sized bed and roll away. Merlin bagsied the cot. He felt a little badly, as if he and Freya, as the omegas, should share the Queen, but he was the only male, so he also felt he was entitled to certain privacies.

He took a short, hot shower, changed into fresh clothes and departed the room not long after, leaving behind a buzzed looking Freya receiving a lesson in vibrators from Gwen. This had been a precaution Merlin and Gwen had discussed and prepared for the remote need, but seeing as the air was laden with wisps and traces of mating smells, Merlin had a feeling everyone was operating on a low level of sexual arousal. Freya certainly didn't looked prepared to flee in horror as Gwen demonstrated vibrator basics.

Downstairs, he pinned his flyers to a number of message boards erected in a hall, sticking them amongst the business cards for professional matchmakers, adverts for massages, legal services, photographers and a general invitations for room specific parties like the WOW player mixer in room 407. He also peeped into the conference room, and then, sighing, got in line to check in. It was relatively painless since Merlin was sure the woman he dealt with had long since gone numb and brain dead. In the end, he fled for the dining hall, a black pin stuck in his pocket.

The welcoming buffet was better than Merlin expected. His experience with hotel Continental Breakfasts was stale muffins, boxes of sweet cereal and unripe fruit. The welcoming spread here was bursting with spring fruit so sweet and ripe the scent of it carried on the air. There was a salad bar, dessert bar and a long counter of hot food. Stuck on small stands beside the stainless steel troughs were little notices about what foods were recommended for stamina, heightened smell and other assorted health benefits which skirted actually referring to sex. Merlin had seen that pineapple juice was available among the beverage choices, unmarked by a card, but its mere presence trying to obscurely communicate the advantages of sweet tasting semen.

Merlin grabbed a plate and waded in to the bustle of people.

He was just helping himself to some fruit salad, mindful of the people who, despite travel, seemed energized with either excitement or terror. He was trying to serve himself and get out of the way when a quiver of the overloaded spoon en route to his plate sent a cube of pineapple tumbling to the counter where it bounced, then sailed down onto the shoe of the betamale behind him in what seemed like agonizing slow motion.

Right on the toe it landed, solid and erect as if it was expected a judge's scoring. Merlin stared at the juicy puddle, aghast.

“Fuck, I’m sorry!” He said when the world resumed spinning. He deposited the fruit on his plate, and the plate on the counter. He snatched his napkin and knelt to pick up the cube off of what looked like very expensive leather shoes.

“It’s alright,” chuckled a friendly sounding voice. Merlin looked up, flushed, at the betamale. He had the fleeting impression that he was very handsome, but Merlin didn't stare long, ducking back to do something about the shoe.

“It really isn’t. I’m sorry, I’m a right klutz with terrible aim. If I’d been aiming for your foot I’d never have been able to hit it.” Merlin said. He blotted, but there was still a big wet splotch left behind on the leather. He had a terrible feeling they were done for, and the man's feet were doomed to smell of mai tais.

“I think I've ruined them.” Merlin said resignedly, then realized he was assaulting a ridiculously handsome betamale’s shoe at a buffet like some demented podophile.

“It’s really fine,” the betamale even sounded sincere. “I wore them thinking I’d have to go tramping through the grounds and I was prepared to step in some very questionable things,” He extended a hand down to Merlin. “Get up, it’s silly, they’re just shoes. I’m Lance du Lac.”

Merlin accepted the hand, using it to pull himself up, then shaking it. “Professor Merlin Emrys. I’m sorry for…” He made a broad gesture encompassing everything.

Lance was even more gorgeous head on. He had brown hair styled to look loose and free around his face, though it didn't hold a candle to Gwaine's. His eyes were also brown, and were notable for being rather kind. Merlin found he liked him at once; there was no guile to Lance.

Lance seemed to search Merlin’s face for a moment as if looking for something. Probably Merlin’s sexugender. Merlin had been covertly sniffed a lot since he arrived, and unsubtle scans didn't turn up any pin. The closer to Beltane, the stronger the hormones they were all producing, excepting those on Blockers, which was throwing off all the on-the-prowel guests.

“I'll pay for them.” Merlin offered of the shoes.

Though he didn’t seem to have found what he sought, Lance smiled and then laughed. He glanced over Merlin’s plate and tilted his head. “Come along, you need some protein,”

Merlin had a feeling that was that.

“You’re here as chaperone?” Merlin found himself asking as he trailed after Lance to the hot food. He helped himself to some macaroni cheese.

“Yes, to an old friend. Funnily enough, his name is Arthur.” Lance said. He squinted at the macaroni and shot Merlin an amused look. “Protein, Merlin. You're going to need your strength if you're chaperoning too, you never know how late you're going to be up. There is tofu down there, if you're a vegan.”

Merlin blanched at the thought. Lance laughed again.

“Chicken?” Merlin said hopefully.

“Chicken,” Lance said and took charge of some tongs to add pieces of barbeque chicken to their plates, clearly making sure Merlin got a sufficient amount of protein. “’Professor’?” Lance prompted, brow raised.

Merlin said, “Of sociology.”

“You look like someone who studies a lot,” Lance said. “What do you hope to study here?”

“People. Mating practices. Behaviors. I’m in the middle of a study about people living on blockers. I put a flyer on the board. For form’s sake though, I don’t think many people would skip the revelries for academia, but it was worth a shot.”

“Blockers, hm? That's actually an interesting topic. I know a few people living on suppressants. Their lives always seem to be complicated. More so than the rest of us betas, but that's an old lament.”

They soon found themselves at a table for two in a corner, drinks and plates piled around them as they got comfortable and began to dig in.

Merlin didn’t want to be one of those academics who wittered on unceasingly about their own studies, so he shifted gears and asked “This isn't your first run, then?”

“Lord, no.” Lance said on a chuckle. “I've been to almost a dozen.”

“Bad luck for your friend. Is it the same one?”

“Yes. I've been chaperoning him for... nine years, now? Something like that. I take turns with another buddy,”

Merlin felt a swell of interest. So many years and this friend was unmated and still pursuing? He tried to sound casual as he cut his chicken. “Omega?”

“No. Malpha.”

Merlin couldn't stop his brows from winging up nor the pale disbelief coloring the tones. “A malpha?”

“Yes. We've been friends since we were young.”

“Malphas, though. I've been under the impression the selection process for them is much... simpler.” Merlin selected his words carefully. He didn't want to offend Lance by inferring his companion should have been mated by now. Poor guy must have had a face that frightened children, and bringing Lance along as moral support probably didn't help finding a mate.

“You mean, why hasn't he settled down?” Lance said, cutting to the core of the question, but with the same ease and matter-of-fact gentility as he'd handled everything else.

“Yes. Historically, reticent parties among pairing tend to be omegas,” Merlin admitted.

Lance shrugged. “Arthur's always been a little different. It's driving his father insane; he keeps parading suitable omegas in front of Arthur. It only makes him more stubborn. I've been to Spring Run here, in Europe, South America. Even Asia, once. We even tried one of the feral runs in California,”

“Feral Runs. I haven't read much on those besides the basic back-to-nature theory. What's it like?”

Lance grimaced. “Let's say, after three days with everyone naked and living rough, no toilets, no tents, you learn a lot about each other. Not the way I'd like to meet my spouse, but some of the people there were very committed and seemed to get a lot out of it. The pictures on the brochure had a lot of running around, unbridled pursuing and being pursued, but I will admit the truth was the terrain was so rocky there was mostly a lot of hobbling and the previous days left a few people with sun burned bits which were not conducive to fevered acts of passion.”

Merlin laughed. “Explains the low success ratio.”

“Mmn. Hard to be romantic when you have mosquito bites on your ass and a powerful longing for a Big Mac. For some reason there was all vegan cooking,”

The conversation waned away from runs, though Merlin would have liked to know more. Lance was an engaging conversationalist. Unlike Gwaine’s cheeky wit, Lance had a heart as enormous as the sun. He was sweet, kindly intended, and patient. He was also so eye catchingly handsome that just sitting with Merlin did get a number of blatant stares which Merlin ignored. He wasn’t attracted to Lance, but the more Lance spoke, the more Merlin liked him.

As they finished up, Lance took out his phone. “If it isn’t too much trouble would you like to exchange numbers?” He asked.

“Sure,” They traded phones.

“What events are you attending?” Lance asked as he typed.

“The ball, morning yoga, the picnic, and maybe the mixer tonight. And Beltane, of course,” Merlin said.

Lance nodded. “We're the same. Well, and there's a meeting for sports fans at a bar in town,”

“Jocks.” Merlin said, casting his eyes upwards on a faux sound of incomprehension.

Lance laughed and handed Merlin his phone back. “Not really, for me. Well, Arthur and I play on a local loosey goosey football team at home, but neither of us paint ourselves up and go to games. Arthur prefers to do, not watch,”

“Well, if not at the mixer I’ll probably see you at the Olympics tomorrow then, fending off aroused omegas. They might like the look of you so much they could make do with a beta,” Merlin teased.

Lance blushed.

“If… I mean… you aren’t… are you? I'm not sure...”

Merlin smiled. He stood and slid his phone into his pocket. “Just the point of blockers, my friend. Don’t worry, I’m not after your virtue, I'm married to my work. But, if you’re single?” He said, brows raised and continuing when Lance gave a little conceding nod. “I think you and my friend Gwen would really get along. Betafem. She's here to help chaperone,”

“I’d like to meet your friends regardless, Merlin.” Lance's phone announced 'Gollyfluff!' in a very sullen voice, and Lance tapped at the screen to open the text. His expression became slightly apologetic. “It's Arthur, my friend. He's wondering where I am. I've got to go. It was nice to meet you, Merlin,” Lance offered a hand.

Merlin shook it. He waved Lance off and then finished his food at a thoughtful pace.

He snatched a couple of cookies from the giant plate and rolled them in a paper napkin and stuffed them in his pocket on the way out of the dining hall.

When Merlin went upstairs he found Gwen waiting outside the room, sitting on the floor with her back braced against the wall. She was typing in her phone but stood and flipped it closed when she saw him coming.

“I was just going to text you,” Gwen said.

“Here I am,” Merlin glanced at the door. He cocked a brow at Gwen. “Lesson went well?”

“The pheromones got the best of her,” Gwen said, subduing a little smile. “She needed a little private time.”

“Ah.”

Merlin rooted in his pockets and came up with the cookies

Gwen’s eyes went wide and happy. “My hero!’

Eventually a flushed and slightly sheepish Freya let them back into the room. The windows and the sliding door to the balcony had been thrown open, fresh air chasing away the last hints of femega lubrication. In all honesty, Merlin didn't mind. This was life. He handed Freya a cookie and they sat, conversing.

The topic invariably turned to what kind of alpha Freya was looking for. She shrugged and admitted no particular preference for malphas or femalphas, though her parents always presented her with malphas.

“I don't have to leave with someone,” Freya admitted, licking her finger to dot up crumbs. “I'll know it when I meet zer, and if I don't, maybe I'll come again next year.”

Merlin admired that, at least.

In the end it was decided that, indeed, they would go to the mixer. The next few hours the girls showered, primped and dressed while Merlin set up his laptop and checked his email. No replies so far.

Freya decked herself in a midnight blue dress with hand made jewelry, an earthy counter to Gwen in a distinctly puffy and sassy purple skirt and very attention-grabbing yellow heels.

Merlin had not brought clothes for clubbing, so he just put on a bow tie and called it an outfit. With any luck no one would even notice him. Few people paid attention to skinny men in tweed suits with bow ties. Well, unless they were carrying sonic screwdrivers, but Merlin was bereft in that department. Anyway, he was much happier observing human behavior than he might be saving the universe.

Gwen made sure they all had their pins prominent on their lapels, and their room keys in their pockets before they departed the room for the elevators.

The mixer was being held in a smaller ballroom on the second floor. When the elevator doors peeled back and they stepped out, both Merlin and Freya had to pause to get a handle on the sudden flush of scent.

The heady odor of alphas and omegas had been omnipresent all day, low levels in the plane, and the corridors of the hotel with traces and hints. This, though, this was different. This was a potent wall of scent, signaling a group together, each urging the other further towards rut as they inhaled the potent mess of pheromones. While Merlin couldn't ignore the musk, the blockers did lessen the effects. Merlin was aware of the smells, acknowledged them to be sensual, but felt no particular pull towards them. Freya, on the other hand, began squirming beside him and fidgeting, her cheeks pink.

“I didn't think it would be this... _much_.” Freya said. She rooted into her purse and pulled out a tube of Scentbalm, uncapped it and drew a line under her nose. It was almost invisible, a faint waxy shine when the light hit just right. She offered the tube to Merlin. He gratefully accepted it, sketched a faintly peppermint stripe under his nose.

“Wow, no wonder you all lose your heads.” Gwen said wonderingly of the unified smell of a few hundred mate-ready alphas and omegas together. She had the back of her hand pressed against her nose.

“My head is in place,” Merlin pointed out calmly as he offered the tube to Gwen. Gwen rolled her eyes at him, but accepted the scentbalm and applied some.

They flashed their pins at the small table set up in front of the doors and ambled into the mixer.

The room was sparsely decorated with twinkle lights. There was a bar along one wall doing steady business. Circular tables were set up around a dance floor, but the music was not blasting them towards deafness. This seemed conducive to the mix of dancing and talking going on amongst the crowd.

The people, Merlin saw, ran the gamut. There were women in designer cocktail dresses and lethal looking shoes, in softer, more flowing things, classy rather than trendy Then there were ones wearing revealing, almost trashy come-hither garments, countering others in more severe professional wear and some just in casual clothing The men were the same. Merlin saw perfectly tailored designer suits, off the rack suits, slacks and button down shirts, all the way down to jeans, tees and grubby sneakers. No dress code to speak of.

They headed along, weaving through the groups in search of a table without wraps or other personal belongings marking it as occupied, Gwen taking the lead, Merlin in the middle keeping track of Freya who trailed behind.

There was a certain sexiness stink that had Merlin alert, but it was well into manageable parameters, especially with the Scentbalm offering him even more distance. He could even let himself enjoy the smells of the different alphas, picking them apart and analyzing them. Malphas, femalphas, femegas, momegas mixed with perfume and cologne, with drink and cigarette smoke, deodorant and detergent. If he inhaled deeply, he could detect the most prolific scent, the most virile, the most cloying...

Then it hit him.

The smell.

The room was full of smells yes, but as they wound their way through tables, skirting groups of people, Merlin caught it. It wasn't like the others; it was completely, utterly different in a way he could never have imagined. It was carob to chocolate, polyester to silk, diamond to cubic zircona.

He stumbled over a chair leg, everything he had focused on the smell. It seemed to assault him lewdly, almost felt as if it were touching, fondling him and Merlin wanted to sink into it. He wanted to coat himself in it, slather it all over his skin until it soaked in and marked him forever. He inhaled deeply and repeatedly until he was dizzy on the lush trickle of scent while he picked himself back up. He wanted to be buried by it, wanted to sink to his hands and knees and present his swollen, wanting genitals, just spread his thighs wide for that smell to take him until he sobbed with ecstasy. He wanted to get lost because that smell, that wonderful, intoxicating smell meant his, meant pleasure, meant safety, meant home, meant...

His Alpha.

His _Alpha._

Freya jarred Merlin and grasped his elbow. Merlin jerked back to himself to find that after regaining his feet, he'd simply stood frozen, his fingers on his tie, his mouth dry. With horror he realized he'd been prepared, indeed, was moments away from stripping off his clothes and going down on his knees. Both Gwen and Freya were beside him, looking at him questioningly.

It shocked Merlin, the realization that his reason had departed him at the merest scent of his alpha. That scent. God, he wanted to wallow in it, wanted-- Merlin pulled himself away from the precipice before he tottered and fell.

“I- have to go up to the room. I forgot something,” He said jerkily, parting himself from Gwen and Freya. “G-Gwen, would- can you-?”

Gwen's eyes were soft and concerned. “Of course, Merlin,”

He didn't linger, but took off at a swift stride, taking him back through the ballroom. The smell was diminishing the closer he got to the door and allowed him more marginally brainpower. Still, his thoughts were slippery and helpless. How could this happen? He was on suppressants, it shouldn't matter if it was his alpha-- _His alpha!_ How he wanted to turn, to find the malpha, and oh, wasn't it a deliciously musky malpha scent?-- that exuded a scent that made Merlin into a gibbering fool. It shouldn't matter, but somehow it did, and wanted to go and do all those things written in purple-prose laden His life, certainly his career, would be over. Yes. He focused on that. What came after what was sure to be stupendous sex. What about the next morning? No one ever talked about the next morning when you were chafed, if sated, and then found out you and your new mate lived on opposite coasts, you were expected to drop family friends and career and commence the child rearing for the next decade. That was all if you were lucky enough not to have a mate with tragic personal hygiene or fanatical urges to vote Uther Pendragon, as your selection happened when you were nearly blinded by lust.

Merlin dove into the elevator when it arrived, hitting the door closed despite someone calling for him to hold the lift. He couldn't bear company and ignored their exclamations when the doors slid shut.

The realization that he was wet came when he leaned against the wall to support his jelly legs. Not just wet, but dripping. It had been so long since he'd copiously self lubricated he almost couldn't identify the slick eagerness, and when he did he could feel himself flush hotly. Not even with Gwaine was it like this, this...this... _gushing._

He fumbled for his key and when the doors opened he all but sprinted for the room. His momega pheromones might not be scenting, but his lubrication? That was another matter.

Inside the room he bolted the door with trembling fingers, then locked himself into the bathroom.

Merlin stared at the red faced man in the mirror with blown open eyes who panted back at him as he gripped the counter. It was a ridiculous expression of besotted lust, mixed with with a bit of fear that this sudden hormonal surge would trigger a larger one. He told himself he couldn't go into heat just because of a smell and certainly not at all while on blockers.

He repeated it, watched the way his mouth moved until the scientific reasons for the conclusion flashed in front of his eyes. He let himself relax marginally.

“This is arousal. You've not had a proper heat in-and the smell of your alpha-the alpha, _the_ alpha- he isn't yours-but the smell...your body knows it could be a successful mating, so it is welcoming it. Arousal is all this is. You won't go into heat. You can't. It's a scientific impossibility.”

He was clutching the counter, and some still working part of his brain knew that this level of arousal and preparedness would not simply go away. It had to be dispersed.

He cinched open his slacks, and then doffed them, unsure whether they would bear telltale traces of smell. His briefs did as they were damp. He shucked them off, throwing them towards the bathtub to be scrubbed out. His cock was so hard, raising up toward his belly, and when he sent a tentatively questing hand between his legs he found himself wet and loose. He pulled away, no matter how nice it felt. No. He wouldn't.

Merlin brought himself off rather quickly with a few pulls to his cock, though the climax was a brief unsatisfactory flutter and not at all what he wanted. Still, it brought clarity, and he was able to realize what needed doing.

He washed out his briefs three times before hanging them to dry. Then he showered, used a scent numbing body wash. When he got out he rifled his suitcase and came up with a small vial of beta pheromones. It was different than Vivian, he told himself. Vivian was using them to attract, to fool people, to get something out of them. Merlin was just using pheromones to blend in, not to take anything from anyone. It wasn't a lie. It was a misdirection, for the sake of everyone.

Especially his alpha.

 _The_ Alpha.

Why wasn't h-the alpha mated? Merlin had always surmised ze would long since be, since most were by thirty. If not mated or bonded, then at least married or in some arrangement with someone. He'd never anticipated finding the alpha whose scent did such things to him at loose ends, Merlin had never imagined ze would apparently wait for him, not while there would be so many eager parties willing to take zer up on zer delicious scent coating a room in blatant invitation to anyone who came calling. All those omegas downstairs smelling zer, coveting what was Merlin's. That was _his_ alpha's smell, how dare they think they could have zer? How dare ze share it so readily? Merlin had half a mind to go downstairs and give his alpha a piece of his mind, tell zer ze had no right to be offering zerself when everything of zer belonged to Merlin- most especially zer knot. Merlin keened softly at that idea...then realized what had been impersonal application of the Beta hormones had been lost as he started to think of his alpha, and he was on hands and knees fingering his ass with the thoughts of possession, with thoughts of being knotted.

Merlin snarled at himself. When had he become every trite cliche of every bad porn ever made? He hated that deep seated longing, had hated it even more when he found out it wasn't a universal omega trait, the craving. For some, it was just part of the territory, no more noteworthy than any of the other parts. Why did it have to push every one of his buttons?

He threw himself back into the shower and scrubbed until he was practically raw while berating himself. When dried he dabbed the expensive pheromones on himself, his internal tirade having done the job and shriveled his arousal, replacing it with anger. He was a rational, thinking person. He was going to damned well behave like it!

He was going to ignore the malpha and Merlin could control himself, would be blank and smooth as glass.

He departed the room only once he was certain everything was in place and he was impeccably masked, scent canceling lube pad in place, his own tube of Scentbalm in his pocket. He climbed back onto the elevator.

Before arriving on the designated floor Merlin was reminded to fortify himself by the ding of the elevator when a femalpha got on. He squared his shoulders and gave himself a covert sniff under his coat. He couldn't smell much besides his soft, bland chemical scent and the faint, faint beta. He nodded.

This time he was prepared for the wave of scent when the elevator doors slid open, the jumble of breeding hormones from alpha and omega rushing over him in a warm, cloying wave. Merlin shuffled off the elevator and an amorous couple fumbled their way in.

He headed for the ballroom, weaving through the bubbles of people as he tapped out a message to Gwen on his phone. He put his mind to locating her and Freya, and not on discerning that one scintillating smell among the cacophony. It didn't matter. With no effort whatsoever it jumped at him. He ignored it.

Gwen texted back and Merlin waded until he found her and a flushed Freya chatting with a group towards the front of the room near the stage. Freya was talking with a man whose gesticulating obscured his pin until Merlin stepped up. Powder blue. Femalpha.

“There you are. Everyone, this is Merlin.” Gwen introduced. A few people called out greetings even as their eyes shot to the pin at his lapel. Merlin smiled and gave a wave then accepted a drink Gwen placed in his hands without delay.

“Scotch.” she said, a twinkle in her eye.

“Bless you.” Merlin muttered and took a long drink.

“Everything alright?” She asked softly.

“It's fine.” Merlin said.

Gwen cast him a concerned look. “If you need—I've got this, I can stay with Freya. If you need to be elsewhere.”

Merlin was quick to shake his head. “It's fine, Gwen. Promise.”

Gwen reached out and grasped his forearm, giving it a little squeeze. She seemed to have taken his word though because she shifted her attention back to the circle of people.

Merlin sipped his scotch and tried to catch the flow of the conversation. Mostly it seemed to be standard small talk; who are you, what did you do, why had you come to Spring Run and how did you know your chaperone. After catching hold of the gist Merlin instead began to observe the room at large, watching the people interact in an enormous tapestry of pre-mating interaction, occasionally interjecting into the group conversation as to remain a part of the flow and not draw attention to himself via silence. He did not take deep nosefuls of air to pull his alphas scent in, no matter how much he wanted to. No. He made himself watch the flow of people, seeing behavior he'd only before seen on a minor scale.

It was really fascinating, and if it weren't for the tantalizing hints of that smell, Merlin would be truly engrossed. It was a little irritating, really. He was trying to be studious, but the smell was not to be ignored. In no time he was semi-erect again, and that made him even angrier. His body was his own, not for some external force to dominate!

Merlin was at the bar getting a second Shirley Temple for Freya and weighing the pros and cons of another scotch when a hand clapped him on the shoulder.

“Merlin!” Lance said with the merry manner of someone who was delighted with people. Then again, Lance struck Merlin as a man who would be equally as happy holding someone's hair while they puked as he would be in the middle of gay frivolity.

“Lance,” Merlin greeted.

Lance ordered two beers, one non-alcoholic, and turned to Merlin. “How goes the research?”

“Much better than I thought. How goes the hunt for your friend?”

Lance made a middling gesture which Merlin took to mean not fantastically. He chuckled. “Come meet Freya and Gwen,” He invited.

Lance deliberated. The barman appeared with the beer bottles and Lance paid and tipped him.

“Alright, but not too long. Chaperone duties.” Lance said, and gestured. “Lead on.”

Merlin paid for his own drinks (in the end he went with a club soda, for want of a prop but also his faculties) and wound his way through the clusters of people.

When they arrived he was pleased to see their group had shrunk again. He sidled in between Gwen and a bored looking woman with a malpha pin.

“Gwen, Freya, look who I found. This is Lance, who is gracious and kind when you fling fruit at him.”

“Oh, yes. You told us. Hello.” Freya said, then eagerly gripped the Shirley Temple Merlin brought and took a few greedy gulps.

“This is Freya,” Merlin introduced, and he turned slightly “And this is Gwen.”

Lance and Gwen were staring at each other, almost unmoving though Gwen had been bobbing along to the music when they walked up. Now they simply stared. Lance's smile widened slightly. Gwen blushed and dipped her eyes.

“It's lovely to meet you.” Gwen at last said, offering a hand. Lance engulfed hers and they partook of a very long handshake while smiling at one and other.

Take that Terence Helois, thought Merlin.

Their conversation was a bit awkward, with Gwen speaking, then hastening to edit her words. Lance only seemed to find it charming, and was a little surprised to find she was a doctor. He himself was an environmental lawyer, and they each extolled the virtues of each others profession. It wasn't quite flirting, but there was mutual interest clearly displayed on each side.

“Lance.” The smell bloomed behind Merlin and he almost went weak at the knees. The enchanting, disabling smell he'd been studiously ignoring was suddenly there, behind him. It was worse, up close. Or better, depending on your perspective. Up close the smell was more complicated and layered, hints and undertones.

Merlin thanked the gods he'd put in a lube pad. Despite his efforts not to become aroused it was happening anyway. His alpha's smell. Every inhale was bliss. And torture. He was too terrified to turn around, not until he got a grip on himself.

A hand appeared on Lance's shoulder and Lance tore his eyes from Gwen to look.

“You left me.” Accused an irritated sounding voice, all silky and precisely pronounced.

Lance's soft expression became apologetic. “I'm sorry, Arthur I-This is Merlin, from this afternoon? He brought me to meet his friends, Gwen and Freya.”

Merlin was suddenly terrified. If he saw his alpha, would it then be all over? Would he be doomed to abandon his life? As wonderful as that smell was, as temptingly as it did invite lewd acts, Merlin almost didn't dare look, if that was the case. His freedom, his life, his career all traded for one glimpse? For sex? Sex wasn't worth freedom, no matter how good the sex was.

But how could he not look? He'd been introduced, it would be rude not to look. He had to.

Of course, when Merlin did half turn to see, he wished he hadn't.

Oh how he wished.

Arthur, Lance had said. Common enough name. Funny, because, well, Merlin, but Arthur. There were lots of Arthurs. Arthurs came in all shapes and sizes.

Including that of Arthur Pendragons.

Who was standing behind him.

Arthur fucking Pendragon.

Merlin was struck dumb, unmoving.

Arthur waited for about three seconds then scowled.

He reached out and flicked Merlin's tie. “Why is a wizard dressed up as the Doctor?”

Merlin's mouth reacted, unbidden. “To avoid dollopheaded once and future kings by traveling time and space.”

Arthur snorted, then seemed to dismiss Merlin altogether as a tasteless bore. He looked at Freya and without bothering to be subtle took a sniff in her direction as well. Apparently not finding what he was seeking he took the beer from Lance and sipped, clearly tuning them out.

Merlin stared at him.

Arthur Pendragon. _The_ Arthur Pendragon. Playboy, millionaire, business mogul, GQ fodder, his celebrity fantasy and masturbatory material, not to mention his intended, his alpha, his one true mate, his destiny...was a dick.

Of course Merlin knew celebrities weren't who they said they were. He knew interviews and articles were bullshit. Part of the publicity machine. Perhaps carrying some fragment of the subject's true personality, but always photographed from the best possible angle so the public didn't see the rough edges. He'd always known the camera ready smile Arthur had in most pictures was fake, a mask.

Was this the real Arthur? He was more gorgeous in person, though that could have been the smell which was still incapacitating huge swaths of Merlin's brain. But, gorgeous...and a dick.

And totally uninterested in Merlin the person. Merlin suspected Merlin-the-omega would be a different story. Granted, maybe Merlin hadn't been as sparkling as he might be, but he was taken by surprise. Apparently with Arthur there were no second chances.

Merlin glanced at Lance who had the grace to look a little embarrassed on his friend's behalf. Merlin caught Lance's eye and raised his fingers in a slight 'it's okay' motion.

“Arthur, this is Freya and Gwen. Gwen is a pediatrician and Freya is an artist.” Lance said with amazingly sincere sounding cheer. “Gwen, Freya, Merlin, this is Arthur. He's in business.”

“I imagine they know that.” Arthur said, managing to sound both dismissive and self involved at the same time.

Gwen and Lance tried to pick up the threads of their conversation, though there was a stilted quality that said they were both aware of Arthur's presence and their own jobs to hook their respective friends up as opposed to finding dates themselves. Merlin suspected they were both such nice people they felt a little guilty about taking a shine to one and other when they were 'on duty'.

When Merlin tore his eyes from his alpha he realized that since Arthur had joined the circle the number of omegas had exploded. Most of them stared openly, hungrily at Arthur, making flirty little gestures, raking their eyes up and down him while they nearly fellated the straws to their drinks. Merlin had to restrain himself from growling them away while they blatantly coveted his al—Arthur.

Arthur in turn didn't make eye contact with them, but sipped at his beer. Merlin could think of nothing to say that wasn't either a warning to the onlookers or some gibbering at Arthur, so he put all his energy into not dropping his glass of club soda, which felt inexplicably heavy in his quivery hands.

The pressure mounted until Arthur turned to him with an expression that very clearly said he was choosing the lesser of two evils. “You're a scholar, then?”

Merlin nodded, not quite trusting his voice.

“For studying people you're not very good with them.”

Ire mixed with the already potent emotional cocktail Merlin was dealing with. “You surprised me.”

Arthur's brows quirked. “I take it Lance didn't warn you.”

“I don't think Lance sees you as something to warn about. You're Arthur, his childhood friend. Not Arthur Pendragon, celebrity. “ Merlin said.

For some reason this made Arthur look at Merlin oddly, so Merlin hastened to speak, even if he was being used as a distraction. And trying desperately not to think of all the times he'd touched himself to thoughts of that face (which only made him flush). “Lance tells me you've been to a gathering in Asia. What was that like?”

“Different. And none of your business.” Arthur said after a moment. He then gripped Lance's elbow and interrupted smoothly. “If you'll pardon us,” and he all but dragged Lance away who sputtered out a goodbye.

They watched him go, Merlin a bit flabbergasted.

“What a dick.” Freya said. Rudeness had to be extreme to make it past her rose-colored barrier.

Gwen snorted back a laugh.

Yes, Merlin thought sadly. My dick.

 

The picnic was held on the Flathead National Park compound, in the enormous stretch of green between the dorm houses. The remainder of the year compound operated as a camp ground and dorm space for the park, and the nearby lake. Now it was filled to bursting with people.

While Merlin, Gwen and Freya were not strictly late, they were defiantly in the latter portion of the latter half of attendees trickling in. They'd gotten a late start. Or, more accurately, had gotten up at the crack of dawn for Sunrise Yoga and then returned to bed for another few hours.

Though they'd departed the mixer at a decent hour, they'd been too wound up to go to bed. Freya and Merlin were hyped up on alpha hormones and Gwen on thoughts of Lance. Not that she would admit it, and took many pains to remind them all of Dr. Helios and the likelihood that Lance had a wife, four kids and a mistress at home, just to be sure that if she were tempted away from her pledged celibacy she would be well punished by the Irony Gods.

They lounged on the big Queen bed, exchanging thoughts and observations on the evening. At length they discussed Freya. She had yet to pick out an alpha who appealed to her and was toying with several options. Merlin had half wondered if electing to attend Spring Run against her parents wishes meant she was going to go home with an unemployed alpha with a hideous personality covered in tattoos and facial piercings just to annoy them. Not expected, but wondered, since Freya was the queen of surprise 160s.

The topic only briefly touched on Arthur, and Merlin was able to steer it back to Lance. He was right though, Gwen really fancied Lance, even though she was trying not to, long distance relationships, past betrayal, irony gods and all.

It was about two o'clock when Merlin finally crawled into his cot. He tossed and turned for a while, body keyed up, head swamped with thoughts before surrendering and going into the bathroom to bring himself off again. It lessened the itch under his skin which hadn't gone away since he'd discovered he was under the same roof as his alpha. The biological imperative to go to him, to be bred, to be handled and adored boiled under his skin despite his very logical reasoning. Thankfully, Merlin was well versed in the head to heart to genitals confluence and he knew what bits to ignore.

It still took him a long time to relax, Merlin trying to figure out who the Irony Gods were, and whether or not they hated Merlin or Gwen more.

Arthur was disappointingly churlish and abrasive in person. He was gorgeous, yes, but looks didn't really matter. He was clearly a snob. Why would Merlin want to chain himself to someone who so clearly didn't care about other people? He didn't want to.

Really, that was sort of a blessing. Arthur was giving Merlin reasons to despise him. Merlin didn't have to feel poorly for Arthur. He clearly didn't give two shits about Merlin when not forced to resort to conversation with him. Merlin didn't see how marriage or bonding, assuming it went that far, would be much better. Sure, sex, but then what?

No. Bless Arthur for making it easy to brush him aside.

Merlin arrived at the picnic newly determined to ignore Arthur and observe the attendees.

The big space was teeming with people. Near the buildings a massive spread of food was laid close to the cement picnic tables. Multiple grills were going, sending tufts of smoke to the sky. In another area was a mass of coolers for drinks. A few people milled around getting food, but most of the action was for the games.

The basketball courts were going full swing, and soccer fields had been paced out with some flimsy portable goals set up, football was furthest out, people wearing flags for touch but it seemed more like tackle. There were clusters of spectators around each game. Somewhere there must have been a horse shoe pit, for the air was punctuated by iron clangs. There was someone blowing massive bubbles the size of hula hoops, which drifted over the crowds until they popped or were popped by well aimed badminton birdies. Chess games, croquet, bocce, bingo, it seemed everything was afoot.

They strolled, winding along through the groups, deciding whether or not they wanted to join a game, chatting as they went until a flash of golden hair caught Merlin's attention and he lingered.

Merlin was not the least surprised to find Arthur and Lance dominating the game with only the most competitive Alpha Jerk Offs (Lance excluded). It happened to be soccer, but Merlin suspected the the game itself was incidental. Here, fun had taken a back seat. Instead, the alphas were set on dominating one and other for recognition as the biggest baddest alpha, thus impressing the lines of omegas and chaperones who surrounded the field. Clearly the crowd approved of the raw displays of power, as they were doing a lot of hollering. There were some alphas among the audience too, and Merlin wondered if they were homosexual or just checking out the competition. And what competition it was.

Arthur was on the skin team. Merlin lingered, not to watch him half nude, sweating and fiercely concentrating, but to observe raw alpha TESTOSTERONE and aggression rarely seen outside biker bars. While many of the other surrounding games had friendly competition vibes, even the all omega basketball game wasn't half as tense as this.

The shirts and skins charged up and down the length of the field, the lack of ref meaning they were probably getting away with far more foul behavior than was strictly allowed. They rammed into each other, racing around, more than one set of canines fully erect s they snarled at one and other.

...And Merlin wished his alpha wasn't leading the pack. With Arthur up in front, charging around, his were the only pecs Merlin could ogle, fueling a swell of attraction which had him thinking about Arthur's nipples and how much he wanted to lick the divets at his groin and--

Merlin interrupted that train of thought and abruptly turned his back on the game. He went to go find Freya and Gwen instead. He found Freya chatting amiably under a tree with a femega.

“Hey,” Merlin greeted as he plunked down. “Where's Gwen?”

“She went to get some of those free packets of sunscreen and drinks.” Freya said, then gestured to the femega who waggled her fingers. “This is Liz.”

“Merlin,” Merlin extended his hand and they shook.

“This is Liz's first Run too,” Freya said.

“I'm mostly here to appease my mother. There are five daughters in my family. Two betafems, one femalpha and two femegas. Not a one of us married or bonded.”

Merlin couldn't help the perk of interest. “Your mother?”

“Mmm. My father is beta and my mother is femega, but operating on the assumption she is a femalpha. She's determined to see one of us married this year.”

“My mother is the same.” Freya said. “Is it for the grandchildren, do you think?”

“Mine? I don't think so. She can't seem to think beyond weddings and bondings.” Liz said with a roll of the eyes.

Freya made a consoling noise.

“Not your thing, then?” Merlin tried to find a polite segue way to ask if she would mind terribly doing an interview.

Liz shrugged. “I think...only the very greatest love will induce me to bond. But she asked me, so I went off my blockers to come to this...and watch after my sister Lydia there.” She pointed then frowned. “Who appears to need chaperoning.”

Liz rolled to stand and Merlin leaped up with her, but then as Liz bid them goodbye Gwen was walking toward them with a sunny smile. In her wake were Lance and Arthur.

Merlin cursed quietly

“Look who I found!” Gwen announced, doling out soda cans. She also tossed Merlin one of the squeeze packets of sample sunscreen. “Put this on before you burn,”

Arthur snorted in amusement, eyes raking up and down Merlin with embarrassing scrutiny. “I can see why you'd need it.”

“It's genetics, what precisely am I supposed to do about it, huh?” Merlin said, squeezing the packet so hard he was afraid it might pop.

“Are you sure it's not basement dwelling?”

“Arthur,” Lance warned softly.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Arthur said and rolled his shoulders before adopting a less aggressive stance. “Lance brought it to my attention last night I may have been short with you.”

“Short? Is that the word you're using?” Merlin returned, tearing open the packet and rubbing sunscreen onto his ears and face.

Gwen waved. “It's quite alright, Arthur, so much going on, it happens.”

“Are you sure you want to use 'short'? Not 'dismissive'? Or 'brusque'? Or good old fashioned 'rude'?” Merlin was not about to let it go. There was no way he was letting Arthur have any mercy. He was aware that Gwen and Lance looked uncomfortable with the direct confrontation. Freya was sipping her drink and seemed to take it in stride.

Arthur had angled his body to Merlin, the shoulders ready for a fight again. “I've never had an apology thrown back at me before. Now who's ungracious?”

“An apology is where you apologize, it involves saying you're sorry or begging someones pardon, which you made no reference to. What you actually said was a statement of your behavior. A mildly inaccurate one.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Spare us from academics. Are you a grammar Nazi as well? Look. I'm sure Lance has told you, I go to a lot of these things. I don't have the energy to simper at every person I meet when I probably won't see any of them again. I'm here to find a mate, not make friends. Being a beta, you wouldn't understand that.”

“Of course, beta's don't understand loneliness or the desire for companionship, do they? Lance, Gwen?” Neither one of them contributed to the battle, but Merlin didn't wait for support anyway. “Has it occurred to you you're frightening potential mates away with your appalling manners?”

“You don't understand the imperative, betas are not the same from alphas and omegas. And my mate will be a damn sight less prickly than you!”

 _Want to bet?_ Merlin thought and then snapped. “Ze is more likely to run the opposite direction from such a self important and rude malpha.”

“If you can't stand alphas why did you come to a place guaranteed to be full of them?” Arthur snapped.

“I'm not sure if I should think that's narcissism because you're so sure you'd be liked you figure I must dislike _all_ Alphas to account for it, or if you're inferring I'm stupid.” Merlin returned.

“Can't it be both?” Arthur said, the tone cavalier.

“Children,” Gwen interjected and Merlin was a little miffed she cut them off when it was his turn to retort, thereby giving Arthur the last word. He looked smug about it too.

Merlin did something like a low-grade seethe. How could this pompous prat be his one, true mate? He liked Arthur better with the news media as a personality filter.

“Why don't we grab some lunch?” Lance hastened to suggest.

Over the quiet into which Lance made his suggestion Merlin became aware of giggling. When he was able to tear his gaze away from the staring contest he and Arthur were having he saw Freya giggling behind hands clapped over her mouth.

Merlin looked back at Arthur.

Arthur quirked a brow at him derisively.

They spoke at the same time.

“Yes. I'm starving.” Merlin said.

“No. I'm not hungry.” said Arthur.

Then they glowered at each other.

“...Well,” Gwen said.

“Come on, Lance.” Arthur stomped off across the grass towards the basketball court with the biggest crowd around it.

Lance and Gwen shared a look and Merlin suddenly felt his stomach clench. This was no little attraction between them, and he'd gone and ruined an opportunity for them to spend time with one and other again. He wasn't even sure how he kept falling into arguments with Arthur. Except that Arthur was a dick and every time he opened his mouth it galled Merlin beyond belief.

But...as he watched Gwen watch Lance follow Arthur across the lawn towards the game in session, as he saw her wistful expression Merlin knew he was going to have to try and be civil. For Gwen, he would hold his tongue.

With a sigh he turned away from the retreating men. He found Freya looking up at him with brown eyes twinkling. He gave her what he hoped was a 'what are you smirking about?' look and not a 'GUILTY. I AM GUILTY BUT PRETENDING NOT TO BE' look. Whichever it turned out to be, Freya tapped her finger on the side of her nose, but dropped her hand down when Gwen at last turned to face them.

“Well. I've had better behaved first graders at the clinic. What's gotten into you, Merlin?”

“Nothing. Was there food? Let's go get food.”

 

Eventually they found Liz once more at a game of croquet and loitered around eating hot dogs until the next game which they joined. Lydia was a bright playful girl who flirted outrageously, but bordered into annoying twit terrain more than once. It wasn't that she spoke untruth, more that she was too bald in her acknowledging of certain points. Liz was good about it though, reining her in when it was needed. The game was actually fun, and Merlin only looked at Arthur playing tug of war once. Alright, maybe twice, but he was only human.

Liz was bright and clever, and when Merlin felt less like a heel and Arthur was done pulling on things topless he asked her to sit for him. She agreed, and then had to elbow her sister when Lydia started to say something about what freaks omegas on suppressants were.

So Merlin whipped out his waiver, a folded list of questions and his little cassette recorder from assorted pockets and conducted an impromptu interview. Liz was blunt but fair, and had a bright laugh. Gwen and Freya kept their distance for privacy's sake, and engaged Lydia in another game of croquet with a couple of alphas. This seemed to make Lydia perfectly happy.

When they were finished and rejoined the group someone over a bullhorn began shouting that it was time for the three-legged race, to convene on the far ends of the field.

“Are we racing?” Gwen asked them.

“I don't know. Seems a bit undignified.” Liz said.

Lydia tugged on the nearest malpha's arm “I'll do it if you race with me.”

They watched Lydia lead the man off, since the malpha didn't seem to be able to say no to the prospect of having an omega actually lashed to him.

“Gwen!”

It was Lance who came jogging up, his smile shy.

“Lance, oh, this is our new friend, Liz.”

Ever polite Lance nodded. “Pleasure.” Then his eyes found Gwen. “Arthur and I are going to race. Would you like to come cheer us on, see how silly things get?”

“I'd love to!” Gwen said, then, remembering her companions half turned. “If, um?”

No one had any reason not to. Merlin had to stop himself from smiling, though the upturned corners of his mirth melted away when Arthur appeared from behind Lance.

“Come on, we'll be late.”

“They're going to come cheer for us.” Lance said happily, indicating the four of them.

Arthur nodded, then his eyes fixed on Merlin. He smirked. “Probably the best place for them, in prevention of the domino effect.”

Merlin felt his back go up. There was no way he was letting that carry on unchallenged.

“I've changed my mind.” Merlin seized Gwen's hand and began marching toward the little crowd over the designated race area. “Gwen, we're racing.”

“We are?” Gwen said a little uncertainly.

“Yes. Aren't you the Jell-o wrestling champion? You don't just want to cheer Lance on, you want to prove to him you're an equal, now come on!”

Dozens of people were partnering up under the direction of a UA organizer with a bullhorn and one of the distinctive polo shirts. People were laughing about the silliness of it all, though Merlin couldn't quite find it in himself to be merry. He left Gwen at the sidelines with a puzzled Liz and Freya while he went to an organizer to get one of the clothe strips for binding legs together.

The Irony Gods hated him.

“Beat you to the finish line, Professor.” Arthur said as he took his own tie and faffed off toward were Lance waited, stretching out his hamstrings and looking concerned. “If you make it that far,” he called over his shoulder.

Merlin tried not to froth at the mouth as he stamped back to Gwen and anchored their ankles together with sharp movements.

“Uh, Merlin...? We might want to continue having circulation down there.”

Ugh, she was right. Merlin loosened the bond. “Sorry. We have to beat Arthur. Trip him if you have to,”

“That's not very sportsmanlike, Merlin.”

“Fine. Just...wag your tits at Lance so he trips. Then it's his own fault.”

Gwen only sighed at him. Now she was looking concerned. In all honesty, the expression only made Merlin want to shout.

The hundred odd couples lined up under direction from a bullhorn, toes right against one of the chalk lines that was the length of the football field. When all legs were tied everyone got ready. Merlin was aware of Arthur and Lance a dozen couples down from them, legs bent, ready to sprint off as if this was the bloody Olympics and there was a medal in it for them instead of some cheesy crown of greenery that could be worn tonight.

“We don't have to win, just beat Arthur.” Merlin reminded Gwen.

On the blow of a whistle the line vaulted forward in skipping, loping movement. The people at the sidelines began whooping and hollering. Merlin heard Freya and Liz cry both their names in tandem.

They got a good start. Thankfully he knew Gwen, he was familiar with her patterns and motions, just as she was with his. They often fell into step beside one and other when they walked naturally. All that needed doing was to speed up that pace.

“One, two. One two!” Gwen counted loudly, their joined foot hitting the patchy grass on the beat of two. They started a bit slower, catching the new rhythm then began to speed. Merlin focused fiercely, on breath and pace. When he could spare the brain cells he glanced forward and up the field. A few couples were ahead of them, mostly belonging to more athletic persons. He did not see a stacked blonde with a brunette.

“Yesss!” He hissed under his breath as he and Gwen jogged along. His heart did a little dance. Arthur wouldn't be so supercilious knowing a skinny academic beat him at an athletic pursuit. Granted it had more to do with teamwork than brawn, but in this case Merlin was willing to let the details slide.

He couldn't resist, though. As they moved along Merlin spared a glance behind them. Arthur and Lance had somehow gotten stuck behind one set of contestants who had tripped, splayed and created a blockage which forced a bunch of people to go around, messing up the straight shot most of them had from the starting line.

“Alright Gwen, we've got this!” He shouted, gleeful, turning to face front once more. And promptly tripped over an uneven clump of grass. He gave an aborted yelp, staggering off balance and hauling Gwen along with him so she also jerked unevenly. They both tumbled, hitting the ground with grunts.

It was from this lofty position, blinking up at blue sky, that Merlin saw Arthur sail by with a little wave.

“He beat us.” Gwen said, and set about untying them.

Merlin whacked his fists against the grass. “I _hate_ him!”

 

ᴥ

 _Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers; The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

_Subject: Bennet, Elizabeth_

_Sexugender./Physiogender: Femega/female_

_Orientation: Heterosexual_

_Marital Status: Single, Unbonded._

_“Having seen the state in which my parents live I cannot say it has convinced me marriage is a state to be much desired. They are not a usual couple, but I don't think it's the vagaries of their sexugender that are responsible for the...unrest our life has known. They got married because it was what their parents wanted, and for them to do so was the best way to please everyone. I don't mean they hate each other, in fact I'm certain my dad is too set in his ways and it would take too much effort for him to leave my mom and she's comfortable with the situation. They've acclimated to one and other. Thankfully my dad has grown somewhat numb to her nagging, which rather suits them, really, my mom can prod at him all she likes because, honestly, it makes her happy to fuss, and she generally doesn't catch it when he zips a zinger at her._

_“Still. That's not what I want for me. Stuck with someone who doesn't make me happy, just doesn't make me miserable. That's not much of an incitement. I know marriages are work, are good times and bad...but I'd like to be loved. I believe in love. I believe it's important. I can't imagine going to a lifetime partnership without out it. I'm omega, and I know that once that meant my only shot at a comfortable life was to marry a secure responsible alpha, but that isn't the world any more._

_“I know it's easy to get a divorce for a marriage now, but I don't want an easy in, easy out. It seems to make the doing of it matter less. It's much harder to get out of a bond though, so you had better mean it. I intend to wait for that someone. Someone who loves me as well and dearly as I would love zer. Which probably means I'm going to live alone with eight cats and spoil all my nieces and nephews rotten!”_

ᴥ

It was by Gwen's good graces that Merlin did not have a sunburn by the time they headed back to the hotel, though Merlin did have a sore knee he was not bringing up. His rather impetuous plan to beat Arthur at his own game had backfired rather horribly, and while Liz was kind enough not to make any comments, Freya and Gwen did have a good laugh at his expense.

The ignore Arthur entirely plan had pretty much been a failure. As Merlin had a great deal of experience with taking no notice of people being willful assholes, it shouldn't have been as hard as it was. It was proving incredibly difficult for Merlin to disregard him, because Arthur was his alpha and Merlin was painfully aware of that and angry Arthur was such a stupid blond prat. All the japes and comments Merlin would otherwise have effortlessly let roll off him stuck under his skin. What was worse, he kept finding his gaze drifting to Arthur, even when he wasn't thinking about it. The entirety of the situation made him fume.

His mood, understandably, proved to be a little sullen on the return to the hotel room. He tried to beg out of the Beltane Hop, just wanting to stay in the room, perhaps lie down and grab a nap. It was scheduled from six to nine, a strange dance more suited to middle school to fill in the dead air before Spring Run officially began at midnight. Neither Freya nor Gwen were pleased by this, and Merlin eventually made a deal with them to come down for half an hour. After that, all bets were off.

Which was how he came to be in the Grand Ballroom strewn with twinkle lights and a few balloon pillars, a stripe of Scentbalm under his nose and a glass of ginger ale. He wanted scotch, but he didn't trust himself to drink. Not too many people were; drunkenness could get you taken out of the run. Mostly people were crowding the dance floor flailing and grinding in a prelude to the later activities, or standing around flirting and chatting.

He watched Freya and Liz dancing together, drawing the rapt attention that only two omegas writhing together could garner. Gwen was there too, and Merlin felt pleasure curl in his gut when he saw her bopping with Lance at one point. Arthur wasn't far, the pale hair reflecting the greens and purples of the dance floor lights. Merlin did not look at who he was dancing with. He didn't want the ulcers.

This was all far, far from what Merlin had been anticipating. He had honestly never thought his alpha would be unattached. He never doubted that somewhere there was an alpha with the perfect genetic cocktail which would get past his extreme pickiness, after all, he wasn't asexual. He hadn't wanted to believe in Psyche's Syndrome, let alone that he was experiencing it. Until very recently the condition was believed to be a somatoform disorder, created by subconscious fears or dissatisfaction with a chosen partner. Yet, this also wasn't the one epic destined love that proponents of Psyche's Syndrome droned on about. Merlin didn't even like Arthur. The thought of shackling himself to the malpha was frightening. He'd been raised by Uther Pendragon, after all, and nurture was as responsible for a human as nature.

Arthur, it must be said, wasn't even looking for Merlin, for a person. He was looking for an omega that smelled like a possession, smelling people everywhere he went, unsettled until he found the one he would have absolute ownership of.

His biology be damned, Merlin thought as he watched Arthur transition partners easily. Arthur was not for him. He'd not counted to having to commit so much energy to not watching him, even if watching was all he was going to do. He didn't want to be thinking about Arthur any more. He was tired of it, and it had only been twenty four hours.

At the half an hour mark Merlin drained his glass and prepared to leave. His phone chose that moment to chirp. Easing back down into his chair Merlin pulled it out. Gwaine.

He felt a little pang. He hadn't spared Gwaine a thought. Gwaine had taken his news he was going to Spring Run with aplomb, had been politely inquisitive, but also careful. Since the Jell-o debacle Merlin had apologized until he was hoarse, and as he'd suspected Gwaine was less offended and more puzzled. He even wanted to try again, but Merlin didn't have the heart for it, despite extensive cajoling. Although Gwaine had been supportive, the text also proved Merlin's other thought; Gwaine hadn't believed this was merely a scientific venture.

**Having Fun?**

Merlin smiled. He snapped a quick picture of the dance floor and added text. **Observing the libertines in their natural habitat. Degrees of thrashing suggest Lady Gaga is preferred.**

Gwaine answered back right away. **No Taste.**

Merlin smiled and snapped the phone closed when the chair beside him creaked. To his surprise it was Lance who offered him a smile. Merlin's eyes cut to the dance floor, but he could no longer see his friends in the amorphous blob of swaying humanity.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

Lance waved a hand. “Everything's fine. I just wanted to come apologize.”

Merlin quirked a brow and Lance smiled. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to compose his thoughts.

“Arthur... isn't usually like this. Well, he can be a little bit of a snob, but underneath it all he really is decent. I wouldn't be friends with him if he wasn't.”

“Did I win a special prize, then?” Merlin found he'd crossed his arms and hastened to uncross them so to not appear like a churlish teenager catty over some frankly juvenile injured feelings.

Lance shook his head. “ I don't know what's gotten into him. I mean, he does find these things tiresome...” His eyes had ventured to the floor and he suppressed a sound of amusement, then gestured for Merlin to look too.

Arthur had cycled back around to being visible, as had Gwen near by, because those were very singular curls bouncing out from behind someone. Arthur appeared to have a momega grinding at his backside and a femega in front writhing around. Arthur wore an expression of discomfited bemusement, brows furrowed. He tried sliding out of the box of flesh, but as one of them was holding onto his hips that didn't work so well. He tried twice more to extricate himself subtly before giving up and snatching the hands off him. Although Merlin couldn't hear, he gave them an earful, and both stopped dancing then slunk off.

Arthur marched towards the bar.

“That happens a lot. People look at him and they see a big, sexy checkbook.”

Merlin watched Arthur brace his knuckles against it, but when the barkeep took his order he came back with a can of coke instead.

“I don't.” Merlin said.

Lance nodded. “I know. But he's under pressure for a lot of reasons. He doesn't normally antagonize people.”

“...And I'm not helping much, I expect.” Merlin sighed. Well, he could hardly count himself blameless. It took two to tango, after all. When Arthur poked at him he couldn't help but poke back.

Lance winced. “Well...he kind of did start it, but...”

Merlin waved a yeah whatever kind of gesture. He honestly didn't want Lance worrying about all this. “I'll try and keep my mouth shut from now on, though I don't know how much more we'll be seeing each other.”

Lance smiled, rising. “Thank you, Merlin. And I am sorry. Arthur is too, or he will be when things settle down and he has time to think about all this. You might get a nice fruit basket out of this.”

“A fruit basket?”

“Arthur apologizes better with produce.”

With Merlin's impression of Arthur this far, it would be a basket of bananas.

ᴥ

It turned out that Beltane was a big event for the locals. Flint National Park had a night festival which bordered the mating grounds on two sides. There was less of a roving carnival atmosphere, more of a homespun one, with organizations like the Girlscouts or the Police and Firehouse selling the food. There were local artists with tents, seasonal activities, a crowning of a May queen, archers who would fire flaming arrows into the dawn, maypoles, music, and dancing. A lot of people seemed to be enjoying a night out under a fat three quarter moon.

“I'm nervous.” Freya fidgeted.

Gwen, Freya and Merlin had joined the line at the south entrance of the Mating Grounds, near the straggly back of the fair they'd passed through to get here. Around them a line of similarly anxious participants and their chaperones inched forward to have their pins checked by the UA gate staff.

Rut scent was high in the air, musky and rich. Merlin could smell full blown heat from many of the omegas, Freya's scent hovering on the cusp. Gwen had moved between her and the femalpha behind her who was staring at Freya's ass without blinking in an alarmingly predatory manner.

“Nothing to be nervous about. Merlin and I will be with you.” Gwen said. She offered Freya the water bottle from the small backpack she was wearing which was filled with all manner of things which may come in handy. While Freya drank hungrily Gwen adjusted her coronet of white carnations and ivy. Merlin was sharp eyed as he observed the hum of activity around them.

Freya was in the ceremonial white linen shift worn by the breeders. She hadn't decorated hers, as others had, going crazy with fabric paint, bedazzlers or other individualizing touches Merlin was accustomed to seeing on graduation gowns. Studs wore simple tunics and drawstring trousers, also turning out in a swath of ornamented and not. There were also a few that had forgone the standard white garb for a more pagan route by wearing only loincloths and painting their skin crimson so that mixed in the sea of white were blazing red figures, most with additional ornamentation around the eyes in black.

All the runners wore rubber soled canvas shoes, that was the one requirement of the UA; all runners would be shod when they left the bonfires. Whatever happened after that was a runner's own responsibility.

None them seemed to notice the faint nip in the air which was making Merlin happy for his coat, not even the mostly naked ones. Both he and Gwen had gone for jeans, coats and running shoes. Many people, beta, omega and alpha, were wearing flower crowns, greenery and wrist corsages, body paint, feather headdresses, leather masks that cast eerie shadows, animal skins, horns and antlers strung to their head with leather thongs, and a variety of fur tails strapped to their waists.

The line worked forward slowly, but eventually they showed off their pins, were patted down, Gwen's bag thoroughly investigated and then gained admittance.

The massive open field eventually edged into thin woods which constituted the five square mile Mating Grounds. The pine trees stretched high, like guardians at the treeline.

Along the center of the field at meted intervals were three giant bonfires stacked inside circles of alternating dankon and hag stones. Beside the front gate and parking lot were the restrooms, benches and a few UA booths, first aide, security, info, and those handing out hot beverages, lube packets and condoms.

Around the middle bonfire a group of musicians were playing traditional instruments of drums, gourds, rattles and flutes. Some of the people nearer the epicenter of the music gyrated with the beat.

This was one of three such arrangements around each of the gates to the Mating Grounds. The North gate was beside the front of the Beltane Fair, and was the most crowded, the east even less so. When, just after midnight, the runners took off for the woods three fronts of people would clash among the trails and shrubs, hunt and be hunted, mate and walk away alone.

Most of the roughly two thousand runners and their chaperones constituted the thick sea of people around the bonfires at this entrance. A few floodlights illuminated the crowd, bouncing light off the reflective strips on the Unity Association's Security Facilitator’s orange jackets as they wended their way through the people.

Merlin, Gwen and Freya linked hands to stay together as they heading towards the furthest bonfire where the crowd was thinner. There they huddled, Gwen fussing with Freya, making sure she had a condom in her pocket in case they got separated.

At ten to midnight the loudspeakers boomed to life.

“Welcome all to the 117th Annual Unity Association’s Spring Run and Beltane Celebration!” A throaty female voice happily greeted them and was met with a cacophony of cheers.

“I am Adelle DeWitt, president of the Unity Association and I want to welcome each and every one of you to Flint National Park's beautiful Mating Grounds, omegas, alphas, and betas, returning runners and new faces. I hope this year will prove fruitful in finding your one true mate.”

More cheering.

“At the stroke of midnight we will light the bonfires, and I hope you will all join me in the singing of the Beltane Chant. Then we will signal the start of the run. I want to remind you to please treat your fellow runners with respect, and abide by the rules of conduct so we may all have a happy and safe run. Please, let us join hands.”

The coated UA officers called directions which rippled through the crowd. There was a fumbled surge to comply, people shifting and slotting into place, or drifting back, out of the way. With Freya between them, Merlin and Gwen ended up in the third, largest circle around the last bonfire. Adelle DeWitt began the count down to midnight, people shouting along with her encouraged by the torch bearing UA officers. At one and midnight a great cheer came. As the UA officers dropped torches onto the towering stacks of wood and they caught alight the musicians began to play. The runners in their giant ring began circling and in one great voice all those assembled began to sing.

 

_All hail, the bursting birth of May_

_with fire do we greet you,_

_with hearts aflame and bloomed bouquet_

_with pyre do we greet you._

 

_Our souls alight with flesh delight_

_A'maying are we going._

_Invited in shall May begin_

_and too our springtime sowing._

 

_For kin and pack, we have come back;_

_A'maying we are going._

_We gather here, with nary fear_

_under your gaze all knowing._

 

_So warmed anew with no ado_

_A'maying are we going_

_on wakened earth with fecund worth_

_and all your grace bestowing._

 

_All hail the burning rise of May_

_with fire do we greet you,_

_with fervent prayer and passion play_

_with fire we do we greet you._

_With fire do we greet you!_

_With fire do we greet you_!

 

The rings of people went still and silent, linked hands upraised, sound echoing through the night. The only sound was the rattle and snapping of the flames, which by now climbed the huge piles of fuel and illuminated them all in a ruddy hue while giving off a bright heat so strong the innermost ring had to shuffle back.

Something about the singing, the high moon, and the bonfire had turned the heat scent stronger. It curled in Merlin's nose, ripe and pungent. Beside him Freya gripped his hand, and he felt his body chiming in response, but unable to fulfill the call.

“It's time,” Freya whispered then, her eyes bright with reflected flame.

So it was. Adelle DeWitt came over the speakers, instructing them on the next phase. As she spoke the crowd began to move slightly, rings breaking as people sought to aim themselves towards the woods, over eager runners jostling for front positions as if getting there first would avail them more.

“Remember, if we get separated, we meet at the bathrooms.” Gwen reminded them both. Merlin gave her a thumbs up. Freya murmured an assent, rubbing her thighs together. Many betas lingered behind here, but some still went with their charges, as Gwen and Merlin intended. Freya had not wanted to be alone.

“And now...Happy Running!” The announcer called.

With a great primal call the wall of people sprinting for the woods. Merlin heard the distant echoes which were the other groups doing the same, plunging into the shadows of the trees and the dewy wet-earth smell to the beat of drums.

Freya was towards the back, and seemed not inclined to run off screaming. She trotted along, hesitating with other shy persons at the treeline. There Freya stilled and sniffed. Inside the grove Merlin saw bobbing lanterns casting soft glow among the vertical stripes of trees. From under the canopy he heard shouts and cracking foliage, laughter, and already sounds of rutting.

Freya climbed in, and by mutual agreement Merlin and Gwen hung back a respectful distance before following.

She chose a well trod path and moved along it, weaving through others, her head lifting to sniff the cool air every so often. Runners passing Gwen and Merlin would pause to smell them, then move on in their quest.

Freya met a few alphas along the way who'd stationed themselves along sections of the path, investigating all that passed by. The loomed close, sniffing at her neck and crotch, and she doing much the same to them before some mystical understanding passed between them, and both turned away.

“How do they know?” Merlin whispered to himself. What was it about that scent, Arthur's scent which made it the one? It couldn't just be genetic compatibility. Merlin had smelled hundreds of alphas over the last few days. What was it that made that one special? Did it work? Did selecting by smell make for the most successful and fulfilling mating?

Gwen, mistaking the question for her, responded. “I don't know...don't you?”

He shook his head and quieted as Freya had veered off the path, away from what sounded like the denser collection of people. They followed her as Freya wove through trees and worked between bushes.

They all started when a blond with riotous curls swung down from a broadleaved tree in front of Freya. Freya skittered back and hunkered low. The alpha stilled for a few beats until Freya looked less tense. They then began circling and smelling one and other until the blond blew air out her nose and sprinted off into the dark.

Freya continued on, Merlin and Gwen hanging back until she was almost out of sight in the dark. An omega in full sprint blew by them at one point, wheezing laughter with an alpha in hot pursuit.

There was a buzz from Gwen's pocket.

“Who could possibly be texting you?” Merlin hissed.

Gwen dug her phone from her pocket. She smiled. “It's Lance...” She went to work on the keys.

Something Merlin hadn't yet considered chose that moment to pop into his head. What if Arthur chose a mate tonight? What if he decided that ten years was more than enough to wait, and settled, bonding to whatever willing omega crossed his path?

Not his business, he reminded himself sharply.

They were drawing nearer to enthusiastic sounds of fornication, and though Freya led them around, there was still an eyeful to be had of the couple propped up against a tree. One of them was one of the painted people, her tomato red breasts swinging, rubbing her paint off on her partner. They seemed oblivious to the passing audience, in keeping with the wildly amorous atmosphere glimpsed through the trees.

With Gwen typing away at her phone Merlin kept an eye on Freya ahead. When she turned to glance back towards them, uncertainty glimmering in her posture Merlin raised a hand. Through the dark he saw her smile.

They carried on hiking for another few minutes before Freya slowed. She circled a small clearing characterized by a long mossy fallen log. Merlin stuck out a hand to slow Gwen. Together they watched Freya climb atop the log to sit. She sat primly, knees closed, hands folded atop her lap.

“I guess we're waiting.” Merlin said, and scouted around nearby for a place to sit. He found a low chunky boulder and plopped down on half. He dug out his own phone, opened up a text document and began taking some notes. Gwen settled beside him, her own phone having moved back into her pocket.

“...Don't you want to do this someday, Merlin?” She broached after a few minutes quiet.

“Fuck on my knees in the dirt? Not particularly.”

“Not that. The rest of it.”

“Awkward dances and sunburned picnics?”

“The romance part.”

“Well,” Merlin looked around at the trees, the earth, the occasional squall of human or rustle of animal in the undergrowth. “this _is_ really romantic.” He tried not to let his voice drip with sarcasm.

Gwen socked him in the arm. Merlin grunted, then rubbed the spot.

“Are you and Gwaine going to work things out, then?” Gwen asked.

Merlin sighed and shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Gwaine's attractive and fun and I liked him, but it just didn't work out. We weren't compatible. Besides, even he doesn't know where he'll be next year and I don't want to get into something only to lose it. Besides, he drinks a worrying amount of beer.” Merlin kept his eyes on the screen.

“You might not lose it. He might have decided to stay.”

Merlin snorted. “I'm not sure Gwaine would like anyone enough to give up the things he really lo-”

“Ssh,” Gwen cut him off. He looked up at her then followed her point. They scrambled to obscure themselves more thoroughly behind the boulder, peeping over the top.

A man was approaching Freya's little nook. He was big. A thick, broad malpha with a dense build tromping through the underbrush, clearly following his nose. He was coming up from behind her, and Freya hopped off the log to face him. Her posture adopted caution once more, and rightly so as the approaching malpha seemed to have a good two hundred pounds on her.

“Holy Shit.” muttered Merlin.

“There's no way. His knot would tear her.” Gwen said worriedly.

“There's no way she'd be interested- look at his shirt.”

The sleeveless linen shirt the malpha wore had a cartoony picture of an alpha penis on it in the front. On the back it said CUM PLAY.

They quieted to watch.

Ahead Freya and the malpha were examining one and other, though Freya did not get close enough to sniff at him as she had with many of the others.

“You're sweet.” he said in a low admiring voice.

“I-I..T-thank you.” Freya's voice was whispery and hard to hear.

He must have read that as encouragement, for the big malpha began to approach her. “I'm Halig.”

Freya skittered back, rubbing the back of her hand over her nose. She shook her head rapidly. “No. No, you're not the one. I don't want you.”

This didn't seem to have deterred Halig, who shuffled closer. He sniffed the air and rumbled out a pleased sound. “Bitch in heat...” He cupped himself through the loose trousers and grinned at her. “Needs pleasin'.”

Freya's eyes pinned on the gesture and went wide. Her face leeched of color and she shook her head. “N-No. No, stop it. I don't want you. Merlin? Gwen? Help me!”

Merlin gripped Gwen's hand tightly from behind the mossy stone. He caught her gaze and saw her nod, her hand burrowing in her coat pocket for her phone. They both popped out from behind the boulder and ran ahead to join their friend.

Merlin inserted himself between them and the wide behemoth. Between his breadth and the obscene jutting thing between his legs he was incredibly imposing.

Gwen edged to Freya's side, catching her hand. “We're right here, Freya.”

“That's enough.” Merlin said firmly, standing tall and looking Halig straight in the eye. “She isn't interested.”

The malpha clearly wasn't sure what to do with the two interlopers who'd popped into his forced seduction. He looked between the two of them, sniffed.

“Piss off, betas.” He commanded. “I got business with the omega.”

“She said no.” Gwen said from behind him.

“Her cunt don't say no.” He took in another deep breath, then leered over Merlin's shoulder at Freya.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder, ticking his head slightly, hoping Gwen got the message to move Freya on out of there. The woods were supposed to be full of security to take care of just this problem, but Merlin hadn't seen one in a while.

His heart was hammering in his chest with fear. Halig was built like a brick shithouse and if one were to take his thus displayed discourse into consideration, he was not a deep thinker before his brains were addled with hormones. Now half his brain flow was directed to his crotch, and he was running almost entirely on instinct.

“I said to get the hell out of here, you deaf?” Halig snapped, small eyes watching as Gwen moved Freya along, out from being boxed in between the malpha and a fallen long, which in retrospect had not been the best place to set up shop. As they moved Merlin rotated so he remained between the two of them and Halig.

“The lady said no.” Merlin repeated, trying to be calm and firm. The thing he did not want to do was add to the hair trigger disposition, if he could avoid it. “She is not interested in you. Please move along.”

Despite Merlin's hope, this appeared to be the last straw. “Mancing betas!” said Halig and his lips peeled back from his teeth to show slowly lengthening rectorular canines. When the fangs were fully extended he snarled at Merlin, flecking spittle at him. Merlin felt his inner omega wither under the heated anger of an alpha, but held firm.

“No.” he said, voice going squeaky.

He shoved Merlin aside, superior strength sending Merlin staggering but off kilter. But there was no way this lumbering asshole was touching Freya, so Merlin launched himself back between the departing Freya and Gwen and the big malpha.

Halig wasn't expecting that, blinking in an almost confused way. Apparently not many people had stood between him and something he wanted. Easy to believe with his size. He watched Freya and Gwen begin to jog away down a path and then gave a loud bark of anger. “Get back here, slut!”

Freya looked back but didn't slow.

Halig let out another snarl. “Goddamn Betas! Don't know your mancing place. ” He turned and looked down at Merlin, and Merlin saw himself go from an inconvenience to an irksome nuisance that needed to be dealt with. Halig balled his fist and threw a punch. It was badly telegraphed, and Merlin had not been without a few self defense lessons. He ducked under the ham sized fist. The air whistled through his hair as it passed over his head.

“I'm the alpha, you limp dicked bitch!”

Merlin scrambled backwards.

The moonlight illuminated just how red Halig's face had become. It glinted off the wet fangs, exposed in blatant threat. This time he was coming at Merlin, ardor turned to violence.

“Merlin!” he heard Gwen shout in warning.

Another fist came at him, equally as easy to duck. This time Merlin used the opportunity to stamp down on Halig's instep and jab at his stomach. Without waiting to see the result he turned to flee.

With a roar an arm nabbed Merlin. It sealed around the back of his collar like an iron band and swung him into a tree.

Merlin hit with a yelp. Bark scratched his cheek, pain blooming along the side of his head and his shoulder where he struck hardest. He heard twin cries of feminine distress from behind him, sounds smearing with disoriented sensation like so much runny paint on palette.

“Don't know where you belong? I'll mancin' put you there.”

In the jarred moments after impact Halig twisted his arm behind him. He held it stiff at an awkward angle and with a rough jerk tore the fabric down off Merlin's shoulder. His collar cut into his neck until it gave with a rip, his jacket falling aside. Merlin pulled, trying to get away, but felt the hot breath swirl across his shoulder as Halig leaned in. He yanked again, but Halig jerked his arm further until pain shot up it as it approached the limit of motion. It succeeded in keeping him still long enough.

Fangs stabbed into the curve of his shoulder. A rush of cold slithered through his veins. Subduing bite. Merlin felt the doulostonin hit his system, knew it was riding his accelerated pulse to disperse through his body. He'd never been subjugated before. It was a curious experience. For a second he cursed his bookish brain for so helpfully narrating the series of physical responses he was under going. Responses that made him slump against the tree as a heaviness settled over his limbs.

There was a combative cry from a higher pitched voice, a thud and Halig let go of Merlin's arm with a yelp.

Released, Merlin's legs went wobbly underneath him. He thumped into a pile, and for a few dizzy seconds could do little but try to blink away the spinning. When the surge of near nausea passed he gripped the tree, fingernails digging into the scabby bark so he could anchor and turn himself.

Gwen was determinedly facing down the brute. She was armed, having taken time to procure for herself a thick branch she wielded like a club. The malpha swung one of his mitt-like hands at her, and she smacked him with her stick. He braced for it, snarling.

It struck Merlin then how completely ludicrous this was, as he watched his small friend face the man who outstripped her in size and strength. This was Spring Run. It was supposed to be safe. The place was crawling with security! It wasn't as if the man's name wasn't on record, like he wouldn't be identified, especially if he left a lump of biological material inside Freya with two battered witnesses to attest to exactly what happened.

The other thought was that this was the power of alphamones; to conquer and claim.

Halig swiped again and Gwen struck. This time he caught the end of her branch. He shook it vigorously until it tore out of Gwen's hands. She yipped, disarmed, and leapt back.

“Gwen-” Merlin said, struggling to rise. His limbs felt leaden. Immediate attempts to move got him nowhere but an uncoordinated jerk. Finally he forced himself upwards, clinging to the tree for balance and support.

Gwen tried to duck away, but Halig caught her by the coat.

“Freya, run!” Gwen ordered, and blurrily Merlin could see Freya up the path, poised between flight and returning to help. “Find security!”

Halig smiled at Freya as he hauled Gwen around. “Yeah. Run. I want to chase you, hunt down that wet cunt and fuck you full.”

Licking his lips, he pulled Gwen's jacket aside to expose her shoulder.

“Put her down.”

Merlin swiveled in the direction of the command. Too fast. He ended up losing his precarious balance and falling to his knees.

His belly clenched at the sight of Arthur. Arthur's eyes shone bright, canines extended, beautiful and bold in his stud garments. His chest faintly pulsated with breath, and Merlin knew he must have run to get here. He was glaring at Halig, not an ounce of fear. Behind him Merlin could just see Lance, holding his phone. Then he was moving along the path Freya had escaped along. Good.

With a tight hold on Gwen Halig turned to face Arthur. He looked him up and down, assessing, the presence of another alpha giving him a moment's pause.

“This ain't none of your concern. Turn around and walk away.” He rasped. “I gotta show them their place, for the good of alphas.”

“No.” Arthur said.

“Walk away.” Halig said again, more menace in the tones. “Unless you want trouble.”

“I'd rather not stop you, but if I have to, I will.” Arthur acknowledged with easy confidence.

No, Merlin wanted to say. He didn't want to have to watch this guy pound Arthur's face. Halig was spoiling for a fight, all that energy he'd riled up for sex demanding some kind of escape.

“Put her down.” Arthur repeated the command.

Halig chose to give Gwen a rattling shake. She kicked at his shins.

Merlin sucked in a breath.

Gwen made glancing contact, but got tossed in a bush for her trouble. It snapped under her weight, depositing her on the ground with a grunt.

Halig turned toward Arthur. His grin was taunting, a mad sort of smile that morphed as it went on to a bearing of teeth in display. He let out a growl of invitation.

Arthur answered in kind.

Alphas.

They came at one and other. Arthur springing up, Halig thundering at him with a bellow. When they clashed Merlin felt it in his chest, the striking of two resolved bodies as they slammed into one and other and began to wrestle.

It turned vicious quickly.

It was, after all, a fight fueled by the ebullient demanding hormones ignited by the pale moon, the scent of mating, and the ingrained need to compete for the smell, to master others, to become prime alpha.

Where Halig outweighed Arthur, he relied thoroughly on his animal strength. Even Merlin had been able to dodge his first punches, though now there was the actual intent to harm rather than just put down. When his punches made contact they made blunt meaty noises which made Merlin wince in sympathy.

Halig's attacks did not land often, however. Arthur had training. That much was clear. He moved with light surety, weaving, dodging, and then attacking. His blows were well aimed for weak points. He buried his fist into Halig's belly, or thwacked him in the kidneys, even going for the instep as Merlin had. Efficient violence.

Merlin couldn't tear his eyes from the fight. His breath came fast and shallow in fear he tried not to show. Even when Gwen appeared at his side and grasped his face to tilt it towards her, his eyes remained on Arthur.

“Are you alright?” he asked her. That made it through his sluggish brain, that he should at least inquire after his friend's well being.

“Fine. Hold still.” She fumbled with the backpack. Merlin registered a pen light glaring in his peripheral vision. Then there was the cool-burn of something medical being drawn across the abrasions on his face.

Arthur was still dancing around the big figure, who was getting progressively angrier and angrier, and probably pained. Spit ran down his chin and he lunged, snapping his teeth in an effort to bite. Arthur snarled back, then thrust the heel of his hand into Halig's nose.

There was a wet crunch. Halig's hands flew up to his face where something glittering black trickled. While he wailed in pain Arthur circled behind him. With reptilian efficiency he struck, sinking his canines into the exposed tricep and, Merlin knew, the Brachiel Artery.

Rubbing his mouth Arthur backed a few feet off.

Haligwent onto his knees, cradling his face. Arthur began to circle the downed man, stalking in a watchful, hyped manner. In one of his short glances to Halig Merlin saw the bunched muscles slacken as the doloustonin hit his system.

After their immediate need was averted, two security officers finally arrived with Lance and Freya in tow, crashing through the underbrush in their haste.

“Finally.” Gwen said, sounding grumpy. “Hold still.” Merlin flinched when she began disinfecting the bite on his shoulder. He finally tore his eyes away from Arthur, who stepped aside from Halig. He began talking to one officer while the other examined the bleeding hunched figure. Instead, Merlin craned his neck to look at the gouges on his shoulder under Gwen's pen light. Halig at least had not sunk in and really tore the skin. It was fairly neatly done, tidy fang marks where he'd dosed Merlin.

All of a sudden Arthur was there, crouching beside them. Once more the pleasing smell of him curled around Merlin; his malpha and sweat. Merlin's eyes fluttered closed to savor it and the memory of Arthur jumping in to save the day. Merlin might have been slightly stoned, but in his mind there was a dramatic fanfare when Arthur threw himself into danger for two betas and a femaga he claimed not to have the slightest concern with.

“How is he?” Arthur asked Gwen.

“The bite is clean. His face is scratched some, and he'll probably be sore tomorrow, but I think he'll be alright.” Gwen said. “He'll burn off the doloustonin soon.”

“Sitting right here,” Merlin reminded them, and only slurring the words a little. He didn't like them talking about him as if he weren't present.

Warm fingers brushed his chin, tilting his face slightly. Merlin forced his eyes open and saw Arthur looking down at him, frowning at the scratches slanting across his cheek. Gwen shifted in and planted an adhesive bandage over the scrapes, but Merlin hardly noticed for the touch and smell of Arthur. He was kneeling, trousers tight along his thighs, and higher, stretching over ripe malpha flesh. Was it the fight that affected Arthur? The rut scent? Some combination of the two? Merlin didn't know, but where Halig with his blatant erection had been revolting, Merlin's loopy brain let him fully admire the shape of Arthur outlined by linen. There was even a faint damp spot where pre-come had soaked through. When Merlin drew a deep breath he could smell Arthur's salty-musky arousal. He felt his body responding, rousing despite the subjugation. Again he felt the phantom want, to be taken by his alpha, who had since proved himself. Who had demonstrated his strength. Who now displayed his potency.

Arthur smiled down at him. “See? Not just me. You're a pain in the ass to all alphas.”

Merlin couldn't think up a good come back, what with his brain on Arthur's crotch, but response was necessary. He managed a rude sound of denial. It only made Arthur laugh. His warm fingers left Merlin's face.

Merlin wanted to tilt back into them for a moment before recalling himself. What was he even doing, besides behaving like an addled moron?

“How did he find us?” Merlin said when Arthur had been summoned back over by the UA security betas.

“Lance and I both had the 'find your friends' app on our phone. We thought maybe Freya and Arthur might like each other better during the run.”

Merlin looked at the others. Arthur and Freya didn't seem to be paying each other much heed. Both were talking to one of the UA betas, Freya hugging herself in Lance's jacket and Arthur nodding along to whatever Lance was saying . Halig was still being tended by the other UA beta as he communicated into a radio,

It made Merlin sigh with relief. He wasn't sure he could bear it if Arthur mated to Freya.

“Are you alright, Merlin?” Gwen asked. She'd finished bandaging him and was now looking at him, all concern.

“Yes.” Merlin was quick to say. He hurt, everything was still fuzzy, but he was also erect and starting to get warm and tingly, which meant wetness was not far off. His applied beta hormones wouldn't hold a candle to omega lubrication, moreso on a night like this. He needed to get out of here, and so licked his lips to amend it.“I- No. I mean, yes, I'm fine...Just... can..if I go back to the hotel, can you...?”

“I was just going to suggest that maybe it's for the best if you get some rest. I think Freya has kind of lost the spirit, but we'll stick around a bit longer. Let me go ask them if they'll take you out.” Gwen moved away and as she addressed the UA betas Merlin could hear her put on her Official Doctor Smith voice.

Merlin took a deep breath and gripped the tree again. He'd yet to muster the verve to haul himself upright when a hand appeared in his line of vision.

“Here,” Arthur said.

Merlin looked at the hand, and contemplated the pros and cons of taking it. Unfortunately his brain was in such a state its conclusions were more or less _I wanna touch Arrthurrr_ verses _No touch Arthur! Bad!_ When he realized he was staring at it while having this internal attempt at a debate he surrendered and accepted it. Thankfully Arthur didn't retract it during the deliberation period. His hand engulfed Merlin's in a warm, sure grip. Arthur carefully helped him to his feet. He even reached out a hand to steady Merlin's hip when he wobbled. The fingers felt like a brand against his skin, Merlin sucked in a breath and put off orienting himself in favor of putting most available mental resources on not just leaning into Arthur and rubbing all over him.

Arthur held his hand until the swell of vertigo dissipated, and Merlin got control of himself. Then he snatched his hand back.

“I-Thanks,” Merlin said, wrapping his arms around himself.

Arthur gave him an odd look, one that was distinctly considering. Then he shook his head, gave Merlin an airy sort of salute and headed away.

Merlin watched his butt as he went.

Merlin was escorted back to the gate by UA agents. He declined being looked over at the first aide tent despite urging. He didn't want a stranger near him. He'd been vetted by Gwen already, and trusted her opinion above all.

He was getting stronger, his system burning of the subjugating, just as Gwen said. Probably faster than she anticipated, due to other points.

He still felt disjointed though, and in the wake of fuzziness came a font of other emotions that occupied him so thoroughly he didn't even feel up to examine much of the ongoing Beltane celebrations by the front gate. Sluggishness was giving way to sharp arousal he was trying not to demonstrate. Atop that was a keen longing for his alpha left behind. By shades he was weary, regretful, determined, and horny. Still, he'd gotten away, and that was the most important thing. He hadn't submitted to his base wants, had mastered them.

He ended up on one of the chartered buses with a few others who were done for the night. They were returned to the hotel, the ride quiet. Merlin had never been happier to see an anonymous bland hotel room more than he was when he staggered in at two a.m. By now he was burning warm and wet. He threw open the window to left a draft of cool air in, and went to his suitcase.

He'd packed the dildo thinking there would never be an emergency that warranted it. In fact, he'd taken it out once when he'd imagined a TSA agent poking at it in a routine luggage search. Now he was almost obscenely grateful for it.

He laid one of the hotel towels at hip level on the roll away and then doffed all his clothes. Atop it, he found some echo of bliss with the toy buried inside him, and his hand bearing the hints of Arthur's smell pressed to his nose.

 

ᴥ

 _Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers; The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

_Subject: Esposito, Javier_

_Sexugender./Physiogender: Momega/Male_

_Orientation: Femsexual_

_Marital Status: In relationship with femalpha, Unbonded._

_“People know about me and my partner in the department. Probably others too. It's the kind of shit that gets around; omega and alpha as partners. Still raises brows. Still get people claiming you can't be an effective team. Can't work and not want to fuck. That you'll get distracted on the job. Bullshit._

_“I don't know if my partner went on suppressants to stop people talking, because of me or for personal reasons. I don't ask. We're the job. We work well together. We're friends. Good friends. But that's it. He's married and bonded. I'm not interested in him._

_I was a green beret, and I love being a cop. Defending my country. Being an alpha mattered when war was all hand to hand combat, and you used your teeth as much as your weapon. In a world of kevlar, rifles and police issues? You don't often get close enough to subjugate. If you do, the paperwork is worse than if you fire your gun, on the force._

_“Sexugender is only important in the mind of others, really. But it was part of the deal going into the army, so I've been on them a long time. Now my partner and I smell the same. Often, people know we're alpha and omega, but don't know which is which. They meet us and they always assume I'm the alpha. They talk to me first, ask things of me, think I'm in charge of my partner, that the alpha must order the omega around. Some weird sexism. Then they're always surprised, because I'm bigger and, I don't know, less fussy than Kevin. Because I shoot so well. Because I'm not what they have a prepacked idea of what I'm going to be.“_

ᴥ

The morning of May first, dewy and bright, Arthur stalked out of the woods which constituted Flint's Mating Grounds still unmated. Lance trailed behind him, wisely silent, as Arthur stamped past the ashy mounds of consumed bonfires, UA officials, and lingering Beltane revelers.

Something had told him this year would be different. A nagging and indistinct feeling as he'd first plunged towards the woods that this time someone was waiting for him under the canopy. Someone waiting only for him. That it was finally going to be his year, and he'd find the illusive and vital missing corner of his life. Arthur had never had such a feeling before, and there had been a lot of nights in his life when he had run.

His gut feelings were, in actuality, garbage.

Instead, he'd spent yet another night roaming around some woods, getting leaves in his hair, sniffing strange omegas and being compelled to pee on trees so to spread his smell around and cover the scent of other alphas. As usual, he ran out of urine in the first hours and was sporadically followed by one or two omegas he had no interest in who did a lot of casual leaning against trees in such ways that their shifts rode up and their heat scent wafted towards him. The smell was appealing, but not correct.

The only bright spot in an otherwise standard Run was rescuing Freya and her useless friend, Merlin. Apparently Lance had been subtly pointing him towards their group with some misguided notion that Arthur was going to like Freya's scent more when it was magnified. Granted, the unwanted help had turned out to be fortuitous when Gwen's SOS text came through and they were not so far away.

He'd gotten to take out some of his frustration on a lumbering alpha. A physical work out usually made him feel better, and under the Beltane moon it made him feel fierce and victorious, taking down a malpha that much bigger than he. For spare seconds he thought for sure the feat would attract his omega, who would swoon in rapture.

Instead Merlin still managed to be cheeky despite being dopey with a subjugating. He had spunk, that much was for certain, and truth be told, Arthur didn't like to see him there, brought low like that. It niggled something uncomfortable in him.

Then again, it only substantiated his feeling that unmarked betas had no business in a Mating Ground. It became confusing, and the last thing that should be added to the compelling odor of omega heat and the competing smell of alpha was the unknown, rogue scent of hundreds of betas. Your brain might know they were harmless, but under a Beltane moon, hunting for a mate, instinct made most decisions, and it considered them foe.

This was why Lance let Arthur mark him. Even Lance saw the wisdom of it. They'd been attacked before, when he was just a lone beta following Arthur. When he was marked he went ignored, a part of Arthur's pack. Having defeated the alpha, by certain rights the betas and the omegas belonged to him. He'd ignored it, but the urge to mark them, to make them his own had throbbed through his veins. Especially Merlin, who had a foreign alpha's venom inside him.

Yet, proving his dominance, adding to his 'pack' availed him little. There was no impressed omega with the perfect smell waiting for him, to tell him what a powerful and strong alpha he was.

It all put him in a foul mood.

He retired to his hotel suite to sleep off the night's activities, rousing at about one in the afternoon. He ordered up room service, feeling too irritable to attend the closing ceremonies or be anywhere near people. He didn't need to tell Lance to move their plane tickets forward, since the return flight was always booked later in the week with the optimistic hope Arthur would be too occupied with newly mated fornication to worry about vacating the premises. Why he bothered, Arthur wasn't sure. He never left these things mated. It was beginning to feel hopeless.

This thought chased circles through his head all day and into the next. Lance had scored them a late flight on May second. He'd also had enough of Arthur's sulking (Arthur never sulked. He was only slightly melancholy.) Lance demanded Arthur get out of the room and do something. It was very difficult to deny Lance. Mostly because everything he said and did was for your own good, which made him a repulsively beloved friend, and wanting to kick his teeth in for being right only made you feel like a jerk.

Arthur decided to work out in the gym more to appease Lance than anything else. He got into the elevator, mind still full of this year's failed run.

Maybe it was time to pack it in, let his father just pick someone for him. If he wasn't going to be happy, the least thing he could do was make an advantageous match. His father was always mentioning available and well connected omegas in casual ways. They probably wouldn't care about him any more than he about them, so long as their shopping accounts were full and the jewelry he gave suitably impressive.

He was thirty one. Hell, Mithian had married, bonded and lost her mate by now. He felt as if he'd been left behind, and he did want children, wanted to be young enough to enjoy them. He wanted one person to come home to, someone who struck around long enough so that he knew their patterns, their habits...and when things started wearing thin he didn't see opportunist underneath. Or didn't see that he was as temporary to zer as ze was to him.

His thoughts were disturbed when the elevator bobbed to a stop. The doors peeled back and a couple fumbled on. They didn't even bother to unlock their mouths from the desperate sucking kisses that provided ample auditory pollution. They more or less groped their way in by feel, skidding along the walls.

Arthur shuffled into the corner, as far away from them as he could get.

They hadn't bathed either. The smell of heat, lubrication, semen and sweat smacked Arthur in the face. Then the woman pinned the man against the wall and began to grind on him.

There was no way he was riding in the confined elevator with that.

Arthur darted off. “Christ,” He muttered. He waited until the elevator dipped away before punching the button for the elevators on the other side.

Just what he needed. A glowing sample of mated bliss that would forever elude him. Not that he wanted to molest anyone in an elevator.

One of the maids pulled her cart into the elevator bay.

Maybe He could get through marriage to some omega, providing he didn't loath zer on sight. They could have kids, and he was extraordinarily good at sex, so ze wouldn't have anything to complain about on that score. There'd be money, security, the Pendragon estate, a senator for a father-in-law, house in Martha's Vineyard, the condo in LA, Igraine's jewelry collection . That was a lot to tempt a prospective spouse with. Not everyone found their true mate, and hell, all betas were fairly happy and they didn't have true mates at all. Who was he to say he deserved more than half the damned population of the plane--

Smell.

It caught Arthur's attention slowly. A tickle gently tugging at his distracted thoughts, subtly pulling on him until he acknowledged it. Once he acknowledged it, it swallowed his thought process whole.

He turned to eye the maid and the cart, then came closer, sniffing, following. What was that? Buried under a lot of other scents, but there it was, a whisper in the dark, a needle in a haystack.

The beta maid squeaked when Arthur pulled the canvas laundry bag off the side of the cart. “What are you doing?!”

He ignored it. That smell. That _smell_. He had to find it.

He upended the bag onto the carpet over the maid's sputtering. Towels tumbled out, most of them wadded and somewhat moist. They stunk to high heaven, but inside that smell, inside the multitude of traces of malpha, femalpha, betamale, betafem, femega, momega was a smell. A smell that refused to be ignored.

Mindless of how disgusting the task he began to sift through the towels, drawing them up to smell then casting them aside when they proved incorrect. No, No No... he scented mating and assorted human funk in all its forms. Where was it? It was here somewhere. That smell. Find the smell. Find the smell.

“Are you crazy?” the maid asked, but Arthur only flashed her his teeth briefly and she backed off.

When Arthur found it he hunkered low over the towel, and without a thought to hygiene buried his nose into the terry. A symphony waltzed into his nose, a delicious, tantalizing aroma which promised everything. Momega. Semen and yonic fluid. Delicious and wonderful and so very, very slutty, asking Arthur to do all sorts of naughty things to it. And it was only that one smell. Arthur investigated every inch of the towel, but found no other polluting it. Only the one momega.

“Ze was here.” Arthur breathed to himself, rubbing the towel against his cheek. How would he have missed zer? How could he have missed this smell which went right to his cock? They both missed one and other in the woods. It was feasible, so much space, so many people... and his omega had come back to the hotel to masturbate by themselves. Lonely.

His omega. His perfect luscious omega. Who he'd been about to abandon for convienance.

Arthur leaped up, clutching the towel. He set on the maid who was looking at him as if he'd lost his mind.

“Where did these come from?” he demanded.

“Who's going to clean up this mess, huh?” She returned. “You gonna come upend my cart and yell at me, and I'm supposed to just be nice? Uh-uh I don't think so.”

Arthur cursed roundly and fumbled in his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and gave her what cash there was. Her brows went up.

“Where. Did. This. Come. From?” Arthur held up the towel once more.

The maid shrugged, counting the bills. “I don't know which room exactly, but I just did rooms 700-735. It's gotta be one of those.” She stuffed the money into her pocket.

“700 to 735?” Arthur repeated. Even thirty five rooms didn't seem like much after years and years of hunting. His omega had been here, on this floor, in the hotel. Had been ripe for the claiming on the Mating Grounds.

And zer's alpha had not been there.

Clutching the towel Arthur smashed an elevator button. When the doors opened he rushed in and smacked the door closed.

All that Pendragon influence had to be worth something to a peon desk clerk.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. Will update...eventually...


	3. You've Been Hiding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People, I am so sorry this is so late, but, um...here it is! 
> 
> Now we all need to go grovel and thank Kestrel Sparhawk and Stray_the_grey for their invaluable assistance and ego petting and reading about neuroscience in order to engage me properly (Yes, kiddies, all the brain parts mentioned here are 100% real) to get this out here. Seriously, they are both amazing and fantastic. I thank them utterly and totally.
> 
> Note: Sophia was used as a throwaway character in part one when I had a different plan for this. She's since been upgraded, so you aren't crazy if you thought you read that. I've edited.
> 
> ONWARD.

**Heart in a Headlock**

**Chapter Three: You've Been Hiding**

 

For the initial two weeks after arriving home from Spring Run Merlin walked on eggshells. He finished out the remainder of the school year waiting for something to happen. Waiting for the UA's Super Sekrit Escaped Mate Extraction for Nuptials Squad to come raid his apartment and take him in handcuffs to Arthur Pendragon, whom he visualized on a massive red throne, collar, chain and Princess Leia slave bikini at the ready. Or, since Merlin wasn't going to be filling out the top of said bikini and would look more like an undernourished exemplification of defiance rather than some nubile slave boy, to some militarized breeding complex. There he'd spend his breedable years staring at the stainless steel wall of his little stall and being anonymously jackhammered from the back, bearing dozens of young until he was all used up. He'd be left to inevitable homelessness, since the isolation and emotional abuse was likely to have made him a little bit crazy.

Of course he knew that wasn't going to happen, but it was all so very vivid, even if it did resemble a bleak, totalitarian post apocalyptic film with great costuming. Only, in a movie he wouldn't be released to unwashed homelessness, but mulched into food for the other breeding cattle for maximum horror. Which did help him see the ridiculousness of it all, even if it didn't decrease the general anxiety surrounding the topic.

This all made him relieved to see the punching bag at kickboxing lessons at the end of the week. Gwen decided directly they got home that they needed self defense lessons, so Thursday night was now kickboxing night. Gwen, Freya and Merlin all convened and spent an hour having a spandex clad femalpha shriek at her beginners class largely populated by betafems and omegas about butching up.

Merlin might have found her and the lessons ridiculous, if not for the sudden turn his life had taken, the remembrance of Halig's canines sliding into his skin and the following cold of venom and his constant and increasingly dramatic persecution concerns. He went and battered his frustrations into the punching bag, since there was no one else to direct his frustration at. No one he could even tell about having met his true mate, and what a douche Arthur Pendragon really was. Or, how now Merlin seemed to be plagued with filthy sex dreams in which Arthur had a starring role. Dreams that usually left Merlin needing to wash his sheets in the morning. It annoyed him, this odd return-to-puberty, especially since the dreams focused on a man he didn't even like when he was awake. Plus, he was doing way too much laundry.

Freya had returned home unmated, and seemed to view the experience as a kind of passage into matehunting. Her parents sighed in relief, at least until Freya decided she was going again next year, if nothing else developed.

However, the encounter with Halig had not left her unscathed either. She bought a little can of mace to carry around in her purse. Though Merlin had serious doubts that she'd be able to get it out and use it, considering how much crap there was in Freya's purse, its mere presence made her feel better. Freya wasn't a particularly good kickboxing student, but then, neither was Merlin. However, true to form, Gwen swiftly became the star pupil of their class.

Someday someone would find something Gwen wasn't good at.

And yet as the weeks rolled on nothing happened. No kidnap squads came for him in the dead of night with giant nets, there were no public bulletins on his sexugender, and no incensed blonds turned up on Merlin's doorstep in a strop.

Actually, he finally saw a news item on Arthur Pendragon's attendance of some big charity shindig in New York with some starlet on his arm. There was a picture of him, looking groomed and gorgeous, smiling, lifting a hand in greeting to someone as he strolled up some red carpet, light glinting off his hair.

Merlin was not jealous of the woman.

 

ᴥ

_Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers; The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

_Subject: Tyler, Jaye_

_Sexugender./Physiogender: femalpha/female_

_Orientation: Heterosexual_

_Marital Status: Single, Unbonded_

_My parents are both alphas. My siblings are alphas too, we're the most alpha family on the planet. Yeah, you can imagine what family game night would be like, only we're not much for quality family time._

_The 'genetic win' my mom calls it. She thinks alphas do things, are productive and achieve, that the world continues to evolve because alphas are doing, producing and achieving. She was so glad to have three alpha children to go change the world and give her triple the bragging rights. So, my sister is a lawyer, my brother is a ridiculously over educated scholar, and I went to Brown University like I was supposed to and now I work as a retail clerk. Kind of chaps her ass. Maybe that's why I do it, I don't know._

_But I don't want that life. The busy one where all you do is climb ladders. I get that because I'm an alpha I'm supposed to? Or, at least, am supposed to want to, even if I can't actually accomplish it. But I could, as my mother is always telling me, except I don't want to. I don't even know where I want to go with my life,and I don't want the pressure that comes with ALPHA ALPHA ALPHA. It always disappoints people when they actually meet me anyway._

ᴥ

 

A week and a half or so into summer break Merlin rolled out of bed and confronted his email and, by association, the news. Sleepily he headed for his personal Yahoo account and got distracted by a headline. ALBION COLLEGE STUDENT SLAYS GIRLFRIEND. He stared and the names jumped out at him. John Mitchell. Lauren Drake.

“John Mitchell.” Merlin whispered. He knew that name. John had been in a few of his classes.

A little shocked, Merlin left his apartment to pick up the local newspaper (he liked tangible reading material, even if it was a little out of fashion.) and headed over to Gwen's.

He knocked on the door, and in swift accord Gwen answered. Merlin trotted in. “Sorry, didn't call, did you see...” His voice died when he inhaled the scentmark of Arthur and saw Lance sitting on Gwen's couch. Merlin's eyes shot through the rest of the rooms but he saw no one else.

“Lance,” he said, surprised. He raised a hand to rub over his nose then folded over the newspaper. Judging by the rosy looks on their faces they were almost completely encapsulated in the bubble of dawning affection. Merlin would feel guilty popping the bubble with news of a senseless killing just at this moment. Later would do.

Lance smiled, coming to stand. “Hello, Merlin. It''s good to see you.” He stepped forward and Merlin found himself shaking Lance's hand. He was trying to subtly breathe through his mouth in some futile effort to avoid the inevitable arousal to come. The smell of Arthur washed over his senses joyfully, and just when he'd thought for sure he'd successfully put it behind him. Apparently not.

“I-yes-it's...How are you?” Merlin stumbled.

“Pretty good.” Merlin saw Lance's eyes steal to Gwen as he said it, and his smile got a little bigger. Well now. That pleased Merlin. His initial read on Lance had, when subjected to the most clandestine of internet searches, turned out to be spot on. Lance was actually a fairly successful if not terribly well-paid environmental lawyer who felt strongly about pollution. His reviews on some of the lawyer recommendation pages were glowing.

Gwen bustled by. “Sit down, Merlin.”

“Are you sure I'm not interrupting?” Merlin checked uncertainly.

“Not at all,” Lance said.

They sat.

“How's your study coming along?” Lance asked.

“I've finished, actually. Sent it to be published in a few periodicals.”

Lance commended him excitedly and they made assorted small talk until Merlin could drum up the gumption to ask the question that the pervasive smell incited him to query after.

“How—How's Arthur?” Merlin finally asked hesitantly. But then, it was an innocuous thing to want to know, wasn't it? Arthur was a person he'd met through Lance, it would be very normal to inquire after his welfare.

“It's the smell, isn't it? No one notices at Spring Run, but afterward?” Lance chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry about that, I know it must be unusual. And potent.”

“You do smell very...Arthury. It's not bad, though!” Gwen hastened to say. “But, I didn't ask. How is he?”

“Arthur's a bit...tense.”

“Did his mating go badly?” Merlin said, heart looming up through his throat. Not that Arthur's romantic status was any of his business.

“What? Oh, no. Arthur didn't mate.” Lance said.

A huge weight dissolved from Merlin's shoulders and his heart paused like some woodland beast trying to ascertain the nature of the interruption before selecting fight or flight as the solution.

“Although, his mate was there, is seems.” Lance continued.

Merlin stiffened. His heart began contemplating flight. “What?”

Lance picked up a lemon bar from the plate Gwen had already laid out. He inspected the powdered sugar momentarily, and Merlin tried to resist leaning forward and throttling the information out of him while he took his time deliberating sugar textures on a stupid cookie.

“I think Arthur has the-- I saw this thing on television, it's got a long name- but it means having one, true mate. It was once believed to be an old wives tale, and was supposed to happen only to omegas, but I don't know how else to explain him. It's been so long that being picky isn't a reasonable excuse for him being unmated.” Lance took a bite of the lemon bar and made a sound of appreciation.

“Unumverumconjunx? Unverjunx for short.” Gwen supplied as she brought in a tray with a pitcher of iced tea and three tall glasses that were garnished with strips of lemon. “Are you sure?”

Lance swallowed his bite, then nodded. “Thirteen years of runs. Leon, another friend, and I take turns, have done since we were 18. Arthur's had a lot of options, not counting the ones his father puts forward. He's wanted to be mated, but never was very interested in anyone specific.” He smiled up at Gwen as she handed him a glass of ice tea. She smiled back. They beamed at one an other while Merlin tried not to fidget in anticipation for the rest of the story.

“But, you said he wasn't mated.” Merlin interrupted when he couldn't take it any more. This roused Gwen to hand Merlin a glass of tea. She gave him a particular look as she did so, which Merlin took to mean she couldn't see his interest in the matter, but knew his pursuit was significant. He skirted the look and returned his gaze to Lance. He did intend to ease off the subject, but not until after his curiosity was sated, for it sounded like Lance was skirting something.

“He isn't.” Lance confirmed.

Gwen sat beside Lance with her own glass. “There have been a few studies lately about the unverjunx. It's a fascinating concept. I know a doctor who does guest lectures for us who is convinced it's a long forgotten impulse that got buried when we created an economy and started making financial and political marriages. Dr. Kilgarrah. ”

“I overheard some documentary blip about it, but it sounded exactly like Arthur; so many omegas and nothing. The day after Spring Run Arthur attacked one of the hotel maids for her laundry basket. He'd just been standing there waiting for the elevator when this smell overwhelmed him.”

“He attacked a maid?” Gwen said, a bit aghast.

“No, no,” Lance hastened to say, bringing his hands up. “Not literally. He just upended her cart a bit to find the source of the smell, which was a towel.”

Calmed, Gwen wrinkled her nose. “Good. Still, knowing the state of the place, that must have been some ripe laundry.”

Lance nodded in agreement, polishing off his lemon bar.

“So, did he find his mate?” Merlin prompted.

Gwen offered the lemon bar plate to Lance and Merlin and gave Merlin another look.

Merlin waved the plate away but Lance took another. “No,” Lance said “He went down to the front desk to see if they would help him find zer, even tried to bribe them, but they were very firm on guest information being confidential. Arthur was a little displeased.”

Oh Merlin could imagine. Although he felt a swell of pride for the hotel for sticking by their principles. He liked that the staff could be trusted to keep their mouths shut, even with an angry alpha waving money at them. Probably also threatening, if Merlin had Arthur pegged right. Not that he would hurt them, but, well, in the heat of the moment...

“Poor Arthur,” Gwen said softly.

“Mm,” Lance agreed. “All he knows is zer is an unmated momega, staying in a room on the seventh floor.”

“Oh, but--” Gwen's eyes cut swiftly to Merlin and Merlin knew at once what was going to spill out of her mouth. He tensed and swiftly shook his head in the smallest of increments to prevent her from saying anything about what a coincidence that was. Gwen's eyes went from gently puzzled to wide-eyed comprehension. Her lips began to form 'you' before her gaze flicked to Lance, remembering his presence. Then she dropped her eyes at once to her glass.

“That's too bad.” she recovered, though Lance didn't seem to have noticed the slight hiccup. He was consuming his second lemon bar. Gwen swallowed, hazarded another little glance at Merlin. “What's Arthur going to do now?”

Lance shrugged. “There isn't much he can do. He's put notices up on the UA forums, and even on Craig's List's missed connections a4o, though frankly his responses there have been kind of sordid.”

“So he just has to wait and hope zer goes to Spring Run next year?” Gwen asked, sounding sympathetic.

Lance nodded.

Merlin's heart was hammering. Was it possible? Well, yes. He'd gone straight back to the hotel from the grounds and had thoroughly defiled himself and a hotel towel to his very near satisfaction. His virile alpha had just kicked the shit out of an aggressor for him-- if not technically, then near enough and then showed Merlin protective tenderness and wafted his scent at him under a big blue mating moon. Merlin would have had to have been super human not to want to rub one out with all those incentives. How could he ignore a few million year's worth of instinctive impulse?

Considering all the goings-ons at the run and hotel, though, Merlin found it hard to believe he'd been the only one masturbating on the seventh floor. You'd get further asking who hadn't had their hands down their pants over Beltane.

Initially Merlin had found the deplorable state of arousal after watching Arthur take part in some primitive alpha brawling galling. However, with the perspective of time and a few week's worth of rationalizations he had come to be at peace with it. He had, at least, managed to remain incognito.

...Or so he'd thought.

Still, was his gift for self delusion great enough to think it was some other unmated seventh floor momega's scent that charmed Arthur into the desperation of resorting to Craig's List for some contact?

No.

An unseen smell had made Arthur go nuts, the same as his scent had done to Merlin. It was Merlin's towel he'd dug out of a disgusting laundry basket, Merlin's smell he was captured by, Merlin's smell he tried to bribe out of the hotel staff.

Probably Merlin's smell he was masturbating to.

Merlin closed down his mind from that avenue of speculation to preserve the last, fragile threads of his sanity.

Still, Arthur had his hands on Merlin's personal smell, hell, his DNA. If Uther Pendragon had gotten his deplorable omega registry, all Arthur would have had to do was take his towel to Daddy, and there Merlin's name, address and medical history would be. Arthur was not likely to be pleased, in that scenario or in any other which lead to discovering Merlin was his elusive omega.

Which meant he should never, ever find out.

Merlin barely heard the remainder of the conversation between Lance and Gwen. He was too preoccupied with his own thoughts, though he noted the topic had moved away from Arthur and on to something else. He made a few attempts to contribute, but before long he departed, giving an excuse of work and the arduous task of writing a grant proposal. He didn't want to be a third wheel either, and made a winking reference to that effect. It made them both blush.

Lance bought it, made his goodbyes and voiced his intention to see Merlin again soon, which seemed to indicate some very definite futures plans which placed him in the area. Merlin liked Lance, but this intent made him a little nervous. Where Lance went, Arthur was likely to follow.

Gwen, however, while clearly not averse to some alone time with Lance, promised future discussion with her eyeballs in some wordless warning that this was a reprieve and not an escape.

Merlin fled.

When he returned to his apartment he was jittery with nerves. He dropped the newspaper onto the breakfast bar, not wanting to contemplate it.

Needing an occupation, and yet feeling too restless to touch anything that required focus, he settled on cleaning. This took some hunting for the supplies, since it had been years since he'd done a proper clean, something more than a quick wipe down of the bathroom and kitchen to prevent cultivating terrifying bacteria.

Merlin dusted. He used the wood cleaner. He slotted books onto his shelves from the semi-permanent piles that existed clustered around his furniture. He even hauled out the vacuum.

He also, with some regret, shredded his Arthur Pendragon clippings.

There weren't many of them; he wasn't an obsessed stalker with the kind of labor intensive crazy-wall which serial killers with surprisingly artistic chops had in TV shows. No, he had one small pendaflex folder with a collection of clippings. Just some photos, a few articles, some as old as the days when Merlin himself was a college student. Those relics had small holes in them from where they had been pinned up on his wall by his bed when he was nineteen and it was still acceptable to paper your walls in wank-adjacent positions with an object of lust.

It was more of a nostalgic file, really. From when Arthur was a burgeoning playboy being photographed all the time at college and Merlin was a young nerd, unsure and eager.

He'd been attracted to Arthur a long time, he was forced to concede as he flipped through the contents he'd not looked over in years. He'd always refused to think of it as a crush, because people who fell in love with celebrities they'd never met were a bit delusional. They didn't _know_ them. They knew personalities fashioned by publicity people out of one or two truths, not a person.

Merlin, by contrast, had found Arthur attractive and the idea of him pleasing. There was no getting around the fact that Arthur was the first person Merlin had actively desired. No one at the mating run or school inspired him; he'd learned a distinct aphrodisia for a specific person by staring longingly into those blue eyes at those fine hands with the ring on the index finger and imagining them on him.

However, none of this was ever confused with reality. He wasn't some demented stalking fanzer who thought he and Arthur had a most epic destiny in which they completed one and other. He didn't send emails or go to places where he knew Arthur would be in the flesh, or any of that nonsense. He was an adult with full faculties who could distinguish between fantasy and reality. What he fantasized in the privacy of his own bedroom was just that; a fantasy. Not real.   
At least, not until it suddenly became more real than he ever wanted it. How many people imagined this precise scenario? The gorgeous celebrity being destined for some ordinary schlub. It sounded so good in the world of make believe. He knew people who would trade anything to be in his shoes. Actually, he could think of at least three films that used that exact premise for the shenanigans to follow. His own story could have proceeded similarly; Gorgeous celebrity and stuffy professor discover they are true mates. Despite an antagonistic relationship they clearly want to fall into bed together, but hesitate due to the professor's career concerns and liberal slant, and the celebrity's conservative douchebag father. It practically wrote itself. Resolution would come when douchebag father had a miraculous change of heart and the professor realized love was all you needed. Cue happy kiss and Beatle's song over the credits. But for the suppressants which deadened his sexugender scent and prevented Arthur recognizing him for who and what he was, much of it could have parallelled Merlin's life.

Except in real life committed douchebags did not have miraculous changes of heart, not even during the holidays, and the bitter truth was that love was not all anyone needed. Love was great, really, but it wasn't enough. Few people could really live on love, and be sustained by it all their lives.

In a movie being socially elevated due to a connection would have shopping montages, a palatial new home, leaving behind the drudgery of work and impassioned confessions on public television. In a movie, it was exciting and dazzling.

In reality it was scary.

The news clippings seemed creepy and a little ominous now. Merlin wanted to refuse to believe that this thing had so firm a hold on him for so long. Could his fixation with the untouchable Arthur fashioned when he was young and impressionable have created this particular problem? By using Arthur as material and, okay, maybe having one or two pointlessly sappy fantasies about mega-hunk Pendragon sweeping Merlin off to a FICTIONAL life of glitz and glamor, had those notions somehow entered his brain, rooted and made him consider Arthur Pendragon as the only viable mate for him?

It was a theory he could have put faith in, maybe even had, in distant corners of his mind. That he himself had invented this attachment.

Now, however, Lance had confirmed that it wasn't only Merlin who felt these things. That Arthur, just as Merlin had been, was besotted by a smell before he saw the man. Barring an incredible coincidence, of course.

So he turned the old pictures and articles into confetti in his shredder. It was better this way. It would never do to get caught with them. Still, he was sad to see them go.

 

It had been a foolish and naive hope that his dashing out of Gwen's apartment would be an end to the entire discussion of Arthur and the dubious ownership of a come-covered towel. He ignored his phone when it went off in favor of starting to clean his kitchen.

He was scrubbing down his counters in bright yellow gloves when the knocking began. Actually, knocking was a charitable term. It was more like pounding.

Merlin considered ignoring this, too. Until his phone began to jangle Gwen's tone 'Witchdoctor' loudly. Merlin sprang to silence the device, fumbling in his gloves.

“HA. I know you're in there, Merlin! You never go anywhere without your phone, now open up!” Gwen demanded from the other side of the door.

“Dammnit,” Merlin grumbled and went to face his doom. He opened the door a crack only to have it pushed open.

“I can't believe this.” Gwen said as she blew into the apartment. Then she stopped and stared. “You're _cleaning_.”

“You sound like I never do.” Merlin muttered on his way past her and back to the kitchen.

Gwen looked around in awe a bit before remembering the reason for her visit. She came around to the opposite side of the breakfast bar then pointed at him, her expression expectant, as if Merlin needed to make an accounting of himself to her. “You! You're Arthur's omega! And you knew it all along, you weren't even the littlest bit surprised!”

“Why, yes, Gwen, you may come in. Would you like some coffee? Tea? Shall we discuss excruciating details of my private intimate life? Refer to me as an object? Oh yes, why not?” Merlin said, unable to hold back his sarcasm.

Gwen's mouth tightened. “Tea, please. Herbal.”

Merlin snorted, but peeled off his gloves and went to refill his kettle. Gwen dropped her purse on the dining table among all the piles of papers which Merlin had yet to get around to tidying.

She came forward and braced her hands on the breakfast bar.

“Merlin. We're friends. Friends share their private lives. Otherwise we'd just be colleagues, and we're not. We're friends.” Gwen's voice had gone soft and imploring. It did nip at Merlin's conscience somewhat. He'd been keeping a lot from her.

“It's just complicated,” he said.

“Life is complicated,” Gwen countered. “That is why we have friends, to help get through it. Remember? Sociology? That whole study of human social behavior with other humans? You can talk to me about this, Merlin.”

Merlin got out two mugs.

“I know you've been unhappy since you went home with Gwaine.”

Merlin got out teabags.

“And I know Spring Run had you on edge.”

Merlin tore the paper packets off the teabags.

“Merlin, talk to me. For being someone who is all about human nature, you're terrible about discussing your feelings.”

“I know, just-- I know.”

Merlin stared at the stove top until the kettle shrieked. He poured them tea. He didn't think either of them really wanted a hot drink in this weather, but it made for a good prop.

Gwen sat on the one bar stool at the breakfast bar. A stool Gwen brought him from work, as the mate had been broken and this one was due to be abandoned to oblivion for being all alone and unmatched. A tragic way for the life of a lonely stool to end.

Merlin had never gotten around to properly decorating and furnishing his apartment. He'd always been busy with too many other things to bother with home decor. In fact, most of his furniture was either from Gwen or Freya- the latter because her mother constantly redecorated her house, and assuaged her guilt by giving Freya furniture she was cycling out, and the former because she felt an under furnished abode was some kind of crime, and so collected abandoned furniture for him. Or just broke down and made him curtains.

He owned Gwen a lot, really. For being as comfortable as he was, for feeling like he had a home and a place where he belonged, for her company and love.

Merlin leaned against the counter, fingers pressed against ceramic too warm for summer weather. Gwen watched him, her untouched cup steaming on the counter.

“Arthur _is_ probably experiencing the unverjunx.” Merlin said “There is- I've also...I've been aware of it.”

“'It'” Gwen echoed.

Merlin sighed. “Finna thinks it's Psyche's Syndrome.”

Gwen's intake of breath was subtle but audible. “Oh, Merlin...”

“I smelled him. At the mixer. And I knew.” He looked up into her brown eyes, all soft with sympathy and concern and affection. She reached for his hands, to clasp around them as they curled around the cup.

“It's not like anything I've ever...He's just...The _smell_ \- it took a lot to hold it together... “ The corner of Merlin's mouth twitched. “Until he was such a jerk I didn't want anything else to do with him, no matter what he smelled like.”

Gwen bit her lower lip. “Merlin...you have to tell him.”

“What?” Merlin said.

“You have to. You can't go through life like this--at least you know who he is, he doesn't know who you are. Worse, he now thinks he has some chance of finding this omega, not knowing the omega will do everything in his power to elude the very man he should be running to.”

“Gwen. He's not looking for me.”

“Of course he is, didn't you hear Lance? He was terrorizing hotel staff and posting on Craig's list.”

Merlin shook his head. “He's looking for an omega. He's not looking for me. I stood right in front of him and he didn't notice.”

Gwen made a light almost humorous huffing sound. “Of course not, you're on suppressants, he would--”

Merlin made a sound of frustration, pulling his hands away and abandoning the mug. He paced into the kitchen, then back, hands clasped together as he tried to collect his thoughts, to explain to her the difference. It didn't seem all that nebulous to him. In fact, it was so blatant it frightened him Gwen could miss it altogether.

Merlin braced his hands back on the counter across from her. “Arthur is looking for Merlin-the-omega, not Merlin-the-person. Merlin-the-person doesn't matter to him.”

“You're quibbling.” Gwen said softly.

“Am I? All right. All right, let's say... Lance. Lance really likes—red dresses. Okay? So you happen to be at a party and you're wearing your red dress. You have lots of dresses, Gwen, a whole closet full of them, full of all different kinds and colors of dresses, no two alike, dresses for every mood you have. Tonight you wore the red dress. It's not your favorite, it shows too much cleavage, but it's the only red dress you've got, and red works for attraction. And Lance-- well, he loves red dresses, so he starts flirting with you.”

“Is this strange clothing mania metaphor doing anywhere?” Gwen asked.

Merlin shot her a quelling look before continuing. “So Lance is into you and you're into him and you agree to meet him at another party the next night. You're so excited to see him again and you take your girlfriend with you, only, she has nothing to wear. So you lend her your red dress so she'll catch someone's eye, like you did Lance's. So you wear your yellow dress, which is more you, and you get to the party and Lance? He barely notices you're there. In fact, the moment he saw that red dress he was following it and flirting with your girlfriend. It didn't matter that the woman in the dress changed, in fact, he never even noticed. The red dress was the same; the rest didn't matter.”

Gwen didn't say anything. She just looked at him, her brow deeply furrowed.

Merlin stood in silence. He could see her weighing and measuring his words. He knew Gwen enough to know she found it a little unfair. She who wanted someone so much, who'd been used to help a man cheat.

Merlin sighed, ran a hand through his hair then lowered to brace on his elbows. “Arthur isn't looking to love anyone, Gwen. He could have fallen in love over the years, if he let himself. He wants the omega he smelled because zer feels like his, like something he could own without contest. I want to be loved for something as foolish as myself, and not whatever I've got going on between my legs. Especially because what I've got going between my legs smells like it belongs to someone. I'm not anyone's possession.”

“You don't know that. That he just wants to possess.” Gwen pointed out softly, but she was staring at the counter top now, rather than Merlin.

“I don't. But besides that, Gwen? I don't like him. As a person. He's rude, inconsiderate, arrogant, and selfish. Are these qualities I should be attracted to?”

“You're one to talk, you egged him on.”

“No, I gave as good as he did. Isn't that the point? We didn't get along.” Merlin's memories of Arthur and Spring Run had boiled down to fervent irritation and sexual attraction. While there was something to be said for the latter, the former was worrisome. That was the emotion with which he'd walked away from the discovery of his one true mate? Not joy or happiness or elation, but vexation? Vexation wasn't a solid emotional foundation upon which to build.

Merlin pressed. “What about me, Gwen? Shouldn't I love my mate? Shouldn't I be with him because I want him? Because I'm happy being around him? Because he's happy being around me? Not because biology demands it, but because I'm butt monkey crazy for him?”

Gwen reached out for him again, took his hands. She startled him a little by letting out a soft little sniff. He searched her face and found her eyes moist with unshed tears.

She pursed her lips, trying to put the tears at bay. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.”

Merlin squeezed her hands and stroked his thumbs over her knuckles. He wasn't sure it was complete understanding of his specific plight and his reasons for feeling as he did, but Gwen was such a good friend. She was also empathetic.

After a few moments he rose, picked up their mugs, then paused.

“You...you won't tell anyone, will you?” he asked. “Especially not Lance.”

“I promise.” Gwen sighed, and rested her chin on her hand. Her eyes dropped away ad she began to tidy in a distracted manner. Merlin dumped the lukewarm tea out. No one wanted it anyway.

“Oh, God...”

When Merlin turned she had the paper open, expression aghast, eyes flicking back and forth as she read. “God, Merlin, this is one of our students...”

“I know.” Merlin said on a sigh and joined her at the counter. “It's why I came to see you, I didn't know if you'd seen it or not. He was even in some of my classes.”

Gwen put the paper down and rubbed her brow. “A suicide and a murder in one year. And now, you...”

“I'm not sure you can classify me in the same category as death.” Merlin tried to add some levity.

“No,” Gwen shook her head and stroked the pages. “But they're both sad.”

This Merlin had to agree to.

 

ᴥ

_Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers; The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

_Subject: Dawkins, Thomas P._

_Sexugender./Physiogender: malpha/male_

_Orientation: Homosexual_

_Marital Status: Committed Monogamous relationship, Bonded._

_“It's...too much, you know? Like, listening to the television, the radio, your skype, your neighbors yelling and your roommate singing while on the phone with your mom. I couldn't get through the day, my nose was so loud. The blockers make it better. Less. Seriously, every time I walked into a room it was information overload, and your brain is all process-process-process-alert-alert-alert with just the smells and knowing what everyone is and if they're with someone, when they're going into heat, if you need to fight and it doesn't leave you any process for class. I was flunking because it was way too loud in my own head. Like, being ADD. Failing class? Not cool. So, Blockers.”_

 

ᴥ

Finding the address of one Dr. John Kilgarrah was actually a bit harder than Merlin had thought it would be. He had to go around Gwen, since he didn't strictly want her to know he was going to have a word with him. Not that Gwen was beyond trusting, but Merlin felt a little embarrassed that he really was curious about the various scientific and psychological implications of his current predicament. How was it that he felt this way? What parts of his brain had gone mad? The scientist in him needed to know, abut was also aware how singular his position was. As a specimen who could be experiencing Psyche's Syndrome and a student of the interconnections between people, he had a kind of duty to offer himself up as a subject. While Merlin refused to believe he and Arthur were singular throughout the annals of history, their connection was probably very rare. That made it worth investigating and documenting, especially if there might be any physiological factors to back up a syndrome that some members of the mental health field looked askance at.

Gwen would think it was proof of something more. Would say that it was underlying evidence of his desire for Arthur. Maybe not in so many words, but in quiet looks. She couldn't help it, really. She was a romantic at heart. Merlin knew she just wanted him to be happy.

The residence of Dr. Kilgarrah was a Victorian house. It was old and elaborate, but also neglected, fitting in with the general shabbiness in the older outskirts of town. The neighborhood, once fashionable when bustles were in, wasn't crime ridden, but had gone down in the world. Now the houses too expensive to keep properly, so they had been subdivided down and sported sun bleached plastic toys in the yard.

Dr. Kilgarrah's house was clearly the largest of all, as Dr. John Kilgarrah was the grandson of a local mill and land owner who had been the richest man in the area, a hundred some odd years ago.

Merlin parked in the gravel drive and waded through crackling yellow weeds to the front steps. The porch was massive, paint peeling, some of the gingerbread broken. From the state of the wicker furniture languishing on the porch no one sat here in the evening sipping cocktails.

After finding no doorbell he lifted the big iron doorknocker. It was shaped like a snarling dragon and made a deep echoing noise inside when struck.

He waited a minute or so, head tilted to catch any sounds from within. Then he knocked again. This time he heard a faint stirring, the thud and swish of a body.

The door creaked as it opened, revealing a girl. She was lithe, with very pale skin. Her hair so blonde it was almost white, some of it long and some of it shaved in a distinctive statement of fashion. Watery blue eyes accentuated with a lot of dark eye make up regarded Merlin warily, though she didn't stop chewing her wad of gum. They looked at each other a moment before she raised her brows and cocked her head in a 'well?! Whaddya want?' expression.

Merlin smiled politely. “Hello, I'm sorry to disturb you.” 

The girl lifted a brow then brought her hands up in a series of sharp movements. Sign Language.

Merlin fumbled for his phone, opened a text message and typed in 'I'm looking for Dr. John Kilgarrah'. He held it up for her to see. She nodded and made a beckoning gesture.

Merlin stepped into a gloomy front hall with a heavy, wide staircase. The walls were paneled in dark wood, the structure dim and cavernous, the chandelier swathed in cobwebs. It smelled musty, and everything in the entry way was shrouded in a film of dust.

The door thudded closed behind him and he jumped, having absorbed the murky ambiance fairly swiftly. When the girl came around she was smirking at him.

“Laugh it up,” Merlin grumbled. 

Her smile turned saccharine and she gave him a sign an unwise person would mistake for the American 'okay' gesture. 

She led him down the corridor to a door under the staircase. Instead of holding a coat closet it turned out to be another stairwell leading down. A faint electronic buzz originated from the unseen recesses. 

The girl went first taking the stairs at a light gazelle gallop, her lab coat flapping behind her. Merlin followed.

It was indeed a basement, but this was no storage area for half forgotten items and the possessions of relatives long dead. It had been transformed into a large and busy laboratory. Clearly money slated for domicile upkeep had been spent here. A great deal of expensive equipment weighted long tables and shelves against the walls, crowding around power outlets. Multiple computers danced morphing screen savers on different tables. There were rolling white boards with plentiful scribbles, chemistry equipment in hillocks of glass, an examination table, medical tools, projection screens, neatly labeled storage boxes, and shelves full of books.

The girl had gone over to a hunched figure perched atop a stool, peering into a microscope. She jabbed him, and when the grizzled head rose they had a silent conversation with their hands. The stool creaked when the figure turned. A white bearded face peeped out at Merlin, a bit grouchy under all the hair. However, once he laid proper eyes on Merlin, the expression became one more akin to satisfaction.

“Dr. Emrys.” said the bearded man. His voice was like burr laden silk, and it sounded as if he were very glad to see Merlin indeed. He removed the thick glasses and gestured Merlin in from where he lingered at the foot of the stairs.

“Uh, yes. I am...Did Dr. Smith tell you to expect me?” Merlin asked, although he couldn't see how, seeing as he'd avoided telling Gwen altogether. Still, how else to account for it? He made his way around the tables and offered a hand to the man.

“Not in the slightest.” The man Merlin presumed was Dr. Kilgarrah grasped the hand and shook it, still staring at Merlin quite intensely.

Merlin still felt a little off balance. “You are Dr. Kilgarrah, aren't you? Dr. John Kilgarrah?” he asked as he reclaimed his hand.

“I am,” affirmed the doctor.

“How do you know me?”

“Oh, I've been keeping up with your work.” Dr. Kilgarrah said, and climbed off the stool to pad through all the equipment to where two worn upholstered chairs had been jammed around a mini fridge. The girl appeared carrying a tarnished silver tray upon which two small cordial glasses sat filled with dark liquid. Dr. Kilgarrah took one and she picked up the other, depositing it in Merlin's hands before walking away.

“Thank you, dear. This is my niece, Aithusa. Please, sit.” Kilgarrah said, sinking into one of the chairs.

“Thank you,” Merlin accepted and sat on the other chair. Kilgarrah saluted Merlin, then sipped from his dainty glass.

A little puzzled still, Merlin followed suit. The liqueur was sweet, surprisingly so and was of a berry flavor he was unfamiliar with. He made a sound of appreciation.

“Elderberry,” Dr. Kilgarrah said knowledgeably then set his glass down. “Now, young man, what can I do for you?” He signed as he spoke, presumably for Aithusa's benefit

“I heard about you from Dr. Smith, we work together at Albion. I've read some of your work. It's very intriguing.” Merlin set his glass down only to have Aithusa zip by and pick it up. Then she rolled up a medical stool and sat at such a place between them where she could observe both and be appraised of the conversation.

“It is,” agreed Kilgarrah.

“Your interest in the unumverumconjunx is what brought me today. I gather you believe in soulmates?” Merlin tried not to choke on the word. It was hokey.

There was a burst of scornful air and then Aithusa's hands flew once more.

“As my niece says, no.” Kilgarrah said.

“No.” Merlin repeated. He doubted that was all she had said.

“No, it is much more complicated than that, young scientist.”

“Merlin is fine.” Merlin said.

Kilgarrah continued, unperturbed. “Soulmate carries with it a more romantic view than I would normally approach, and conveys, in popular use, a mating discarding the physical. Truemate is better, for my purposes, encompassing body and mind.”

“You think there is scientific data and reason to back up the Truemate phenomenon, then.” Merlin said.

“May I inquire as to your interest?” Kilgarrah said.

Merlin shrugged. “I'm interested in the unverjunx.”

“Are you, young scientist?” Kilgarrah tilted to sit back in his chair. His fingers steepled and he stared at Merlin. He and Aithusa, who was perched on the stool as if she were about to take flight, did nothing but look at him so intently that Merlin almost began to feel a little uncomfortable, even though he well knew the tactic for making a subject talk. Only, this was supposed to be a colleague, and that annoyed him a little bit.

“I wonder,” Kilgarrah said at last, “what I would find, were I to scan your brain? Such interests rarely come from nowhere.”

Aithusa's made a fist – with the thumb up – which she caught under her chin then pulled out in front of her, then circled a flat palm in the vicinity of her nose in a symbol that clearly referred to smell. Then she popped her gum.

Kilgarrah nodded. “Yes indeed. You're on suppressants, Dr. Emrys.”

“Obviously.”

“You've gone to great pains to keep your sexugender a secret, and though your study indicates any one could be the case, your interest in the unumverumconjunx with such suddenness and so close to Beltane leads me to believe you are either alpha or omega.”

It was Merlin's turn to hold his tongue. He made a faint gesture, acknowledging the statement.

Aithusa gave a windy sigh, and hopped off her stool.

Kilgarrah smiled. “Did you ever consider, Merlin? Our species is unlike any other on the planet. Even we do not fully understand ourselves. Why do we have a ternary breeding system, indeed a quinary system, truly, but ternary but for aberrations, when all other beings on our planet possess a binary system?”

It felt like a test, but Merlin shrugged and began to recite “Judeo Christian and Catholic religious groups hold that as proof of creationism. That God created Adam, the alpha, who was repulsed by Lilith, the omega, who was made of the same dust of the earth and commanded power to and over Adam, and therefore thought herself equal to him. So she was shunned in favor of the humble beta, Eve, who would bend to Adams will, made from his rib as she was. In ancient Norse mythology, the gods Odin, Ve and Vili came across three logs on a beach, an ash, an elm and oak, and from these they carved alpha, beta and omega, and breathed life into them. The Greeks had a similar idea, only Prometheus made mud figures, and had them walk upright. They enchanted the gods so that Athena breathed life into one and it became a beta, Aries breathed life into another and created alpha, and Aphrodite brought forth the omega. In Hindu--” 

“Come, young scientist, we are scholars. To what more practical theory do you ascribe your faith to? Dr. Burkle's Transdimensional Hybridization? Giorgio Dankien's theory of Extraterrestrial involvement? Perhaps the Theory of Cataclysmic Adaption? Or the more recent study of Dr. Temperance Brennan, positing two different varieties of hominids that intermingled?” Kilgarrah said.

“I'm not sure this has relevance, Dr.--”

“No? Surely the manner in which the system came to be has bearing upon what must be a process of that system.”

“I think proving the existence of the process has to happen first. But, clearly you're positing that the unverjunx is a process of mating.” Merlin had moved forward to the edge of his chair, and was staring at Kilgarrah, who had yet to move overmuch from his comfortable position, though his eyes were keen.

“Are you experiencing what you believe to be the unumverumconjunx, Dr. Emrys?”

Merlin paused, but then he wanted to get to the heart of this matter, and Kilgarrah was proving a little elusive on that score. So he swallowed and nodded.

Kilgarrah nodded back. He then signaled to Aithusa. Their hands flew in an exchange Merlin had not a prayer of following. When he finished he turned back to Merlin and smiled.

“Now, young scientist. Are you ready to tell me about the other side of your coin?”

Merlin didn't tell him the name of his alpha-- there were limits-- but he didn't stint the details. He told Kilgarrah all, from his earliest developments, to his failed attempts at sexual liaisons, his certain affinity for a publicly known alpha, and then meeting that alpha and everything that had taken place since. Kilgarrah said little, but listened, prompting where needed and taking a number of notes into a fresh file Aithusa had prepared. Merlin was now officially a subject for someone else to study. It was a strange feeling, being on the other side of the table, as it were.

He'd been brought a glass of water to sip during the telling. After, they began a number of simple tests.

It was while Aithusa was analyzing Merlin's saliva for hormones that Merlin asked Kilgarrah the question he'd been sidetracked from earlier.

“What do you think the unverjunx is?”

“If the basic function of life is in continuance, however much we pretend to have evolved past it, breeding is still our primary biological programming. If breeding is the way to sustain life, then surviving offspring are the goal. If offspring are to be fittest and have the best rate of survival, then pair bonding is of paramount importance, not only for the genetics, but for the teamwork, for the secure foundation, protection and nurturing of the offspring. ”

“Agreed,” Merlin said expectantly. 

“Homo Sapiens, in general, may be best designed for social monogamy, but not sexual monogamy. We are more polyamory. And yet, the happenstance of Truemates endures; the inexplicable drawing of two persons, beyond attraction, so extreme, in some cases as yours, that the tendency for polyamory is overwhelmed, indeed, only one sexual partner becomes possible. Why and how is this?”

It seemed Kilgarrah was on a roll. Merlin pulled up a stool, sat and listened to the older doctor wax theoretical. Kilgarrah was prodding the keys of his computer slowly as he spoke, clearly unfamiliar with them.

“It is my belief that each person is a cog in the machinery of human life, in the network of humanity. We all bear a connectivity and that connectivity binds us together in ways we can only begin to imagine, though we see it in some social behavior. This connectivity is strongest within select partner sets who appear to bond with each other before even laying eyes on one an other, before meeting, before ritualized flirting, and yet. Yet they are bound to each other via a sibylline synchronicity that aligns them by some metaphysical subconscious pull.”

That had Merlin's attention. His brows winged up and he stared at Kilgarrah.

“Wait...wait. You think I share some kind of _telepathy_ with Ar—my alpha?” he said incredulously.

“Of a kind, yes. Though I do not believe in mind reading, if that reassures you?”

“Not really.”

“I have yet to finesse a term for this phenomenon, which is prior attraction near predetermination.”

Merlin blanched. “This sounds distressingly like destiny, which is not scientifically valid.”

Kilgarrah stopped typing and peered at Merlin.

“You identified your alpha as a figure of some public discourse on whom you already harbored a long term fixation, developed in adolescence, yes? And yet the smell you identified as belonging to your mate was without knowing whom it belonged to. You had visual and olfactory confirmation of suitability, each isolated from the other. What basis does that certainty root in, if not the more standard smell and body language combination usually attributed to matching couples?”

And hadn't he? Merlin fell silent and considered this. He'd been inexplicably interested in Arthur at a young age, despite the fact that he was apparently a spoiled jock and his father a bigoted, sexist beacon of everything despicable in politics. And the smell-- he wasn't even getting started on that.

So all he could do was purse his lips, then murmur,“I don't know...” 

“And yet, you have a Truemate upon whom you have been focused since coming into sexual maturity, eschewing all other options.”

Merlin rubbed his brow “So, you think people pre-bond. Telepathically. Because they're destined.”

“Your incredulity is noted, Young Scientist, though those are not the terms I would use. I suggest that certain individuals have a compatibility and a need, which can only be filled by their Truemate.”

Behind Kilgarrah Aithusa leaned up from her work. She placed her index fingers, pad to pad by her lips, then drew them apart, down and together once more in a little heart shape. Then she cocked a finger at Merlin like a gun and 'shot' him. She grinned in a slightly alarming way.

Merlin tore his eyes from her. “But then, how did I know? How is it I smelled the alpha and I didn't just smell a viable mate but my Truemate?”

“That is what we will try to answer. Now. Will you give some blood?” 

 

ᴥ

 

June sped by quickly, between self defense courses, unverjunx research and a battery of tests with Kilgarrah, including an FMRI. Before Merlin knew it the time had come for Freya's Fourth of July party. She'd been preparing it for a few weeks now, a thank you to those who had accompanied her to Spring Run. Also, as a vacation since her parents were taking a long cruise to South America, and thus left their summer home on Silver Lake unoccupied.

The drive upstate was scenic, urban landscape gradually giving way to trees and pastures as the living became rural. Merlin liked driving by and seeing cows nibbling grass and swinging their tails in fields ornamented with dilapidated barns.

He'd elected to drive up alone with his thoughts which were plentiful lately. He was hoping a week of lounging lakeside would give him some much needed relaxation. His brain had been boiling over with concerns, theories and stresses. Also, Arthur Pendragon had circled his mind like a tow-headed shark, trailing in his fishy wake worries about his article, dealing with Gwaine and Finna's unspoken questions and Cenred, who was back to sliming around Merlin with intent.

These and other worries Merlin attempted to purge from his mind as he wound upstate listening to the radio. It took about an hour and a half, and as he texted Gwen his imminent arrival, he declared his mind blissfully void, and the week to be a retreat from the world and thought.

The Bast lake house turned out to be a ridiculously large affair nestled among the trees on the shore. It was a timber-styled structure that sat on a plot of land large enough to ensure that the neighbors couldn't see if you decided to have a clothes-optional pool party. Technically it was owned by Freya's grandmother, but the whole family made use of the house, private beach and boat. Recently the family had been upgrading with things likes solar panels so they could boast to their neighbors about how green they were in addition to owning palatial property.

Merlin slid his car in beside Gwen's and hoisted his bag from the back seat. Before he approached the big double doors they were thrown open and Gwen appeared.

“Merlin!” she said, greeting smile over-enthusiastic with an edge of unease.

“Gwen,” he said cautiously.

Gwen bit her lip and then mouthed 'I'm sorry-' and then ushered him inside.

Merlin entered the granite tiled foyer with devastatingly white walls and trailed after Gwen in the direction of the living room, not entirely comprehending. It was an enormous room, one wall entirely of windows overlooking the glimmering lake. The furniture was Swedish modern, everything angular and in earth tones focused around an enormous stone fireplace. With Arthur Pendragon sitting on the sectional operating his smart phone.

Merlin stopped and stared.

Arthur looked up and raised a brow at him.

“...If you take a picture it will last longer,” Arthur said snootily.

“What if you turn into Dorian Grey and the picture reflects the real you?” Merlin shot back. “All grimy and decayed and hideous?”

“Such an imagination, Merlin.” Arthur smiled.

Merlin despaired of the relaxation he had been planning.

“Gwen. Could I have a word with you?” Merlin asked, and didn't wait for her to make any kind of response. He grabbed her elbow and dragged her blindly along down the hall and into the first archway, which happened to be the kitchen. It didn't have a door, so Merlin looked around until he saw one, and pulled Gwen along with him inside, closing it behind them.

“Gwen!” Merlin held his hands open in anticipation of some kind of explanation.

“I'm sorry!”

“What is he doing here?” Merlin hissed in the semi dark.

“I don't know!” Gwen whispered back. “He was here when I got here, He came with Lance, Freya must have--”

“Freya did this?”

“Well, unless you think he just hitched a ride for shits and giggles? Lance is too conscientious for that, he--”

The doors flicked open, leaving Merlin and Gwen blinking owlishly at Arthur.

“Problem?” Arthur asked, looking from one to the other.

Merlin and Gwen shared a look.

“Uh, no. No, why do you say that?” Gwen asked, all innocence.

Arthur gave a pointed glance to their surroundings. “You're in a pantry.”

Yes indeed, those were jars of peanut butter and bags of pasta on the shelves staring at Merlin, now he really looked at the shelves. He was conferring amongst dry foodstuffs.

Merlin cleared his throat and brushed it off. “So it is. Did you want something? Snack, perhaps?”

Arthur quirked a brow.

Merlin glanced around and grabbed a jar of pickled eggs and thrust them at Arthur. “There. Now, do you mind? This is a private conversation.” He reached out to take hold of the folding doors to try and close them. Arthur did not move out of the way. He was holding the jar, bemused.

“It's not a private conversation if _you're_ here,” Merlin said pointedly.

Merlin suspected Arthur let him shove him so Merlin could close the bi-fold doors in Arthur's face.

He and Gwen waited, both watching the shadow that came through the slats on the door where Arthur stood, blocking the light. They waited until there was an audible sigh and the feet went clicking away.

Merlin leaned back against the shelves and sighed.

“Freya must have invited him when she talked to Lance. I didn't know, Merlin, honestly.”

Gwen was many things, but she was not underhanded.

“I know-- I'm sorry, just, I wasn't expecting to be on my guard all week.” He hadn't come prepared. No lube pads, no scentbalm. He had brought his very pricey beta hormones, mostly because he wasn't sure what to expect.

Still, he felt trapped. And Merlin didn't like that.

They left the pantry soon after and headed back towards the foyer and the staircase. Arthur watched them head upstairs from the position he had resumed on the sectional, the jar of pickled eggs under one arm.

As it turned out, the guest situation had re-organized things some. Merlin now found himself sharing a hill-facing room with Gwen, in bunk beds no less. He didn't mind. The room was as far from the guest room Arthur was sharing with Lancelot as Merlin could get without sleeping outside.

“You didn't tell Freya, did you?” Merlin asked in the privacy of their bedroom.

Gwen shot him a look.

“Just checking.”

“I called bottom bunk.” Gwen pointed.

She already had her bag unpacked, clothing in the drawers and hanging in the closet unlike normal people who would have wadded their clothes back into their suitcase. Merlin tossed his suitcases down and rubbed his face. This was awful.

There was a knock on the door and Freya let herself in.

“Merlin!” She hugged him. Merlin hugged back, resisting the urge to ask her what had possessed her to invite Arthur Pendragon to their peaceful vacation. “Come meet my cousin,” she implored and tugged him to the door.

Merlin raised a brow at Gwen as he went. She pursed her lips, expression going to one that told Merlin clearly that he wasn't going to be all that excited to meet Cousin Sophia, but it was going to be bearably horrific.

Freya guided them to into the master bedroom where a mound of magenta and leopard print luggage had vomited fashion paraphernalia every which way. A pretty young femega was standing before a full length mirror, holding up a handful of hangers. She cycled through the dresses hung on the hangers, holding them before her in the mirror and admiring the effect.

“This is Sophia, my cousin. Sophia, this is Merlin.” Freya gestured.

With the scent of perfume in the air, and a sediment of female fripperies covering everything in the room, Merlin suspected he'd walked into a den of femininity that he should consider being afraid of. These were the sorts of circumstances in which a fellow ended up with Tahitian Pink toenails. Not that he judged the momega who needed colored feet, only Merlin had already been to college and discovered through trial and error that he was really a naked toed kind of dude.

“Hmm? Oh. The betamale. Hello.” Sophia turned and smiled at them both in a perfunctory way. “What do you think? The lavender or the yellow?” She held up two dresses in front of herself in succession.

Merlin ceded this to Gwen, trekking over to stand near the door in case a hasty retreat was needed. Freya joined him. “Sorry it's such a mess,” she said apologetically, and went to clear off the upholstered bench seat at the foot of the bed.

“No big deal.” Merlin dismissed. “Your bedroom.” Granted, he hadn't actually seen anything he thought might belong to Freya, except the sketchpad on the bedside table.

“Uh. So. Arthur.”

“Yes?” Freya asked, big eyes guileless as she cleared a whole pile of bathing suits.

“He's here.” Merlin said.

“Yes, isn't it nice? He came with Lance. I wanted to thank them for coming to help us. I thought he'd have a big party to go to, but Lance said he'd be happy to come.”

“Are you talking about Arthur Pendragon? God, Freya!” Sophia interrupted, a giddy note in her voice. “You didn't tell me you had invited two gorgeous alphas! I would have packed differently. I thought this week was going to be a total loss, but Arthur Pendragon and that teacher – Gwaine? Yummy! And both single.” Apparently the lavender dress had won, as she was wearing it, and now Sophia was primping her hair in the mirror.

“Uh,” Merlin said, feeling awkward in the face of girl talk. Genetically he supposed he should have some kind of predisposition, but the thing was, Merlin did not care about shoes and mascara terrified him. Small spiky sticks with chemicals on them had no business being near his eyes.

“I'll just...” he indicated to the door.

“Sorry, just, you know, betas,” Sophia did not sound particularly sorry. Now she was rummaging in a big bag and selecting lipstick tubes.

“No, I don't know,” Merlin snapped back, a trifle sharper than he intended.

Sophia's wide eyed gaze seemed honestly befuddled by Merlin's marked vehemence.”Well,” she said, and began applying lipstick. “No offense, you haven' got that special something an omega really needs to make zer happy. You might as well be furniture, as far as any alphas or omegas are concerned.”

“Sophia,” Freya chastened.

Sophia waved a hand. “All right, not furniture. My stylist is beta, the things she can do. An artist.”

Merlin exchanged a look with Gwen, whose red face might make one think she was embarrassed, but Merlin could tell she was trying not to laugh out loud. He knew she didn't mind.

It irked Merlin though. “Not to mention all the beta doctors, lawyers, teachers, police and firefighters and assorted other civically vital 'furniture',” he said.

Sophia sighed. “You're taking things way too personally. I mean sexually. Sexually, you just haven't got it. I know they say the knot isn't everything, but that's a lie betas tell themselves.”

“Hear that? Gwen, we have to stop lying to ourselves,” Merlin muttered to Gwen.

“I'm sorry, I don't want want some grapefruit lodged in my hoo-hoo. I'd be perfectly happy with a beta lover.” Gwen said, her laughter stifled, but mirth still glinting around her features.

“Of course you don't. You're beta too. You're satisfied with the substandard--” her eyes flicked to Merlin in the mirror and she paused mid primp, rather evidently doing some fast mental editing. “--with the equipment betamales have got.”

As a product of self censoring, it was a bit feeble. And Merlin felt kind of bad for Lance, who was the actual owner of any reportedly substandard equipment. Not that he was under any illusions that what he had was going to compete with an alpha.

“Unless you're all gross and lezzy,” Sophia continued. “Is Arthur single?”

“I don't know,” Freya's eyes darted fleetingly to Merlin, or was that his imagination?

“Yes, then. If he came here without mentioning a girlfriend,” Sophia said, giving herself one last glance over in the mirror and turned to give them all a big smile. “He won't be leaving without one! Daddy would just love it if I bagged the Pendragon heir!”

She bestowed them all with a wink and sashayed out.

 

In the end there were eight for dinner. Freya, Merlin, Gwen, Gwaine, Lance, Arthur, Sophia and Elena, neighbor and long time friend of Freya. In light of all the traveling done, it was decided to order in from a local Italian place for dinner, and Arthur was dispatched to fetch it. It gave Merlin time to shower heavily with scent numbing soap, apply his hormones and steal a handful of lube pads from Freya's bedroom just in case.

Merlin liked Elena at once. She was a rough and tumble betafem with a big smile and a bit of a klutz streak. He couldn't help but smile when she'd tripped on the front stoop and more or less fell into the house. She was laughing when she was picked up by Freya, and furthur clutz episodes were met with the same blithe acceptance. Elena's family owned a horse ranch, and she'd come in her 'visiting' cowboy boots, which were emerald green.

The atmosphere was jovial as they broke into the plethora of food in the long dining room. It had a massive table with seating for twelve, a big sideboard and walls heavy with fancy oil paintings of ducks. Bottles of wine were opened and passed around while conversation ran in abundance over buckets of pasta, bundles of foil-wrapped garlic bread and cardboard shells of pizza.

“What's the fascination with ducks, then, Freya?” Gwaine called at one point when most of the food had been eaten.

“My father thinks they're noble.” Freya answered.

“Ducks?” Merlin said dubiously.

“D'you know – hand over the garlic bread, would you, Frey -- that some ducks have these long corkscrew cocks that are, like, over a foot long?” Elena said.

“Corkscrew?” giggled Gwen, though she tried to muffle it.

“Yes. In response to the female duck's corkscrew vagina, which is just as long, plus it has false ends and stuff.” Elena said enthusiastically, digging through the bread bundle before passing it on to a blushing Lance.

“Why do they need false ends?” Merlin couldn't resist asking, even though Gwen groaned with laughter in her voice at his query.

“I'm not really sure this is proper dinner talk,” Sophia tried to interject from her position down by Arthur.

Thankfully Elena paid her no mind. She grinned and leaned forward a bit. “Apparently male ducks are really aggressive and rapey, so it's a natural defense against duck rape. There are even documented cases of necrophilic duck homosexuality.”

Everyone took a long look at the paintings of ducks in flight and paddling serenely through the water.

“Would it be remiss to say I can't help but wonder if your dad thinks they're noble because of that fact, rather than dwelling in ignorance?” Merlin wondered out loud.

Everyone laughed, Freya giggling the worst, protesting she was never going to be able to eat in the room with her parents again with a straight face. Like, for instance, at Christmas. Gwen socked Merlin in the arm.

“Sounds like the name of an extreme underground death metal band, HOMO DEAD DUCK RAPE...” Gwaine pitched.

“I love their cover of Duck Tits.” Elena pitched in.

“No. No. They hit their peak with Ducking Around with Drakes,” Gwen added.

“Aren't you all college professors?” Sophia said.

“Not now. Now, we're on vacation.” Gwen giggled.

“Well, I think we should talk about that new health bill. Arthur, what do you think...?”

Merlin elected to do dishes while conversation and wine rolled on in the dining room. He didn't listen to whether or not opinions were voiced on the healthcare bill in question, as certain facets turned him into a raving lunatic, especially the bit about the trans-vaginal or trans-cloaca probes. Homo Dead Duck Rape did not need to open for Trans-Cloaca Probe Lunatics.

It was an unfamiliar kitchen, but had little in it besides the bare essentials, making it easy to find what he needed and where things went. He was wrapping up slices of pizza when Arthur sauntered in with his wine glass and a few last dishes.

“Just put them by the sink,” Merlin gestured then carried on folding pizza into foil, eyes on his task.

Arthur did so, but rather than departing he braced his hip on the counter beside Merlin, a little nearer than Merlin liked. Arthur took a sip of his wine, watching Merlin a long minute before he spoke. “Are you going to be all right with me being here?”

“Why wouldn't I be?” Merlin escaped Arthur's proximity by stowing the pizza in the fridge.

Arthur set his glass down, and crossed his arms while he tracked Merlin's movements. “Because I'm not an idiot? You were not pleased to see me.”

Merlin could feel Arthur's eyes heavy on him as he bustled around the kitchen. He shrugged and sealed the buckets of pasta, working them into the fridge. “I wasn't expecting you,” he admitted.

“So, is this going to be a problem?”

“If you don't have a problem, I don't see why I would either.”

Arthur gave an irritated sigh. “Why is it you're so bloody difficult?”

Merlin flashed a smile. “Part of my charm.” He then began folding up the pizza boxes to fit them in the three slotted trash receptacle’s recyclables slot. He was trying to fold all three at once, and it was not going as smoothly as he liked. Clearly he needed to do some more kickboxing.

“Please, you don't have charm.” Arthur said, then rolled his eyes and held out a hand for the boxes “Give me those.”

“No. And how would you know that, precisely?”

“I'm psychic.”

“The mystic power otherwise known as 'talking out of your ass?'” Merlin said, eyes wide with faux amazement. Arthur took the opportunity to swipe the boxes from him. He smirked as he easily rolled them up small, then waggled the compressed tube at Merlin in some taunting demonstration of superior strength.

Merlin considered snatching the roll back and shoving it up Arthur's ass. But Freya's parents would be horrified that their home was the location named in Arthur Pendragon's court case alleging Merlin Emrys to have anally assaulted him with greasy rolled up pizza boxes. So he gritted his teeth and went to add dishes to the dishwasher.

“If we're going to be forced to spend the week together, why don't we just pretend the other doesn't exist?” Merlin suggested, clattering silverware into the basket.

“Aw, where's the fun in that?” Arthur drawled. He had his wineglass in hand again.

“I'm thinking both of us survive the week without poisoning the other.”

“Poison is a breeder's weapon, _Mer_ lin. A stud goes for something more direct, more powerful. Like stabbing.”

Merlin sighed and said “Poisoning doesn't have to be fatal, I'm not talking homicide. Calm your alphamones.”

Arthur shrugged. “Neither does stabbing. Have to be fatal.”

“Oh, what, we'll just stab each other a little bit?” Merlin said scathingly, frankly annoyed by Arthur looking so jovial throughout the whole thing.

“I'm sure they've got shrimp forks here somewhere,” Arthur said, and he had the gall to smile.

Merlin opened his mouth to retort when Gwaine swung in on a grin. “Oi, Ladies, stop your bickering! Merlin, make your skinny arse useful and help me fetch in the dessert.”

Merlin was happy to comply and escape the kitchen.

After dessert everyone was merry with wine and (mostly) good company. Someone decided a game was necessary, and swiftly thereafter they all agreed. It was eventually decided that Pictionary was just the thing. The alphas appointed themselves team captains, though Merlin snorted heartily and got Gwen's elbow for his trouble. Arthur and Gwaine tossed a coin to see who got to select players first, so Arthur got Freya with a call of heads. Merlin ended up on Gwaine's team with Gwen and Elena. Sophia was elated to be on Arthur's team, and did not seem to notice she was selected last.

It was a rough battle. Though Freya was an artist, she was intimidated by all three of her team-mates. That Arthur and Lance knew each other so well was countered by the Merlin/Gwen bond. They were in a dead heat for a long time (“What the fuck is that?” “How the hell is that 'Moscow?” “Cheerios. Life Preservers. Hula Hoops. WHAT?” “Draw faster! Draw faster! Draw something that makes sense! Faster!” “YES! WALRUS. SUCK IT!”) until Gwaine was up and drew a roughly four legged beast with its balls dropping off and Elena jumped up and down on the couch screaming 'GELDING! GELDING!' only to fall into Gwaine's arms and be hoisted onto his back so they could do a victory lap around the living room. Then Gwaine set Elena back down and threw Merlin over his shoulder when Gwen laughingly eluded him. Merlin laughed despite himself and swung an arm in the air whilst commanding Gwaine to Giddy-up. When the lap was done Gwaine sat down with Merlin around his shoulders like a demented stole and grinned at the other team.

Arthur looked terribly displeased for having lost. “Rematch tomorrow,” he said stiffly, and began putting the cards away.

Through bragging and jeering, it was decided to make it a five day long competition. The grand championship would be held on July Fourth, for the winning of the pot, the pot being the twenty five bucks everyone contributed to this nonsense. Although it did mean winning would double your money. Teams would remain the same, alphas remaining as team captains, with Gwaine, Merlin Gwen and Elena calling themselves MEGG, and leaving Arthur, Lance, Sophia and Freya as LAFS. Elena promised being a house guest five days in a row wasn't a problem, and she proposed that they all come up to the ranch, have a riding lesson and stay for dinner and a game.

Merlin went to bed with a new determination to ignore Arthur to the best of his abilities and just have a good time.

ᴥ

When Merlin awoke the next morning he found the lower bunk vacant and neatly made. Probably not unexpected when he glanced at his phone and saw how late it was. He'd had trouble falling asleep last night, and the only thing that prevented epic tossing and turning was the fact that he was suspended about four feet above Gwen. He would feel guilty if his inner turmoil kept her awake and thus would dampen her exceptional enthusiasm and pleasant demeanor which would help her enchant Lance.

After pulling on his clothes and trundling downstairs he found most of the house empty, except for Lance standing at the sink washing a mound of what looked like breakfast dishes.

“Morning,” Merlin greeted.

Lance twisted to glance over his shoulder then smiled. “Merlin! You're awake. Good sleep?”

“Eventually. Where is everyone?” Merlin picked up a dishcloth and took the next dish from Lance to dry it.

“Oh, hereabouts. Sophia is working on her tan, so you might want to avoid the pool, for now, you know...no lines. Arthur and Gwaine went down to see about firing up the boat.” Lance reported.

“I forgot there was a boat.”

“Apparently it's not a lake house without one.” Lance said cheerfully.

“Ugh. I never liked boats. Is there any chance they won't be able to get it to work?” Merlin said, hardly daring to hope.

“Slim. If it's an expensive elite hobby Arthur's learned it backwards and forwards,” Lance said with a not terribly-apologetic smile, handing him the last of the plates.

Merlin dried it, then put it in the cupboard. “How did you two get to be friends, if you don't mind me asking? It seems . . . unlikely.”

Lance shook his head.“No, I don't mind. It's a bit funny, really. Arthur, as you might imagine, went to this very expensive private academy. I could never have afforded to go, except my grandfather taught history there, and he got a break on tuition.”

“Bet that was fun.” Merlin said, without much optimism that it was. His mother had wanted him to teach high school, since he was so animated and 'good with kids'. Merlin felt that, considering his own high school experience, most kids and teenagers were rather vicious, and he had no desire to warden at an institution where they locked all the kids, – feral and benign -- together, and waited a few years until one set had adequately debilitated the other. And that was before social networking was invented and they could find you online to make your life miserable even in the privacy of your home.

Lance laughed. “You're right on the mark. I think I was the poorest kid in school, and they never let me forget. I didn't have it the worst, though. No, weird was still worse than poor, I guess. There was this betamale, played D&D, read Stephen King and Clive Barker novels like a religion, played video games, back when we were in high school, before it was cool, remember?”

“I do. “ And Merlin did. Before geeks like him were in vogue.

“One day, when I was a sophomore, this big group of alpha jocks cornered him. Harassing him. I couldn't just let them, so I stepped in. Of course that got them going; I hadn't even hit my growth spurt yet, so here was this tiny beta, one hundred pounds soaking wet, standing up to them. Well, for a few seconds, until one of them hauled off and threw the opening punch. You want some coffee?” Lance said.

“I'll make it.” Merlin volunteered and stepped in. “So, what happened?”

“Arthur. Stepped in, sent them off.”

“He wasn't one of them?”  
“No. He was very lone wolf, in those days. He didn't know how to talk to people, he tended to just give orders, so people steered clear of him. But Arthur stepped in, sent them off, then looked at me, lying there, blood coming out of my nose. He commanded me to come with him. So, I picked myself up and followed him into the gym. He took me to his locker and then began throwing his fencing gear at me. Said that if he gave all of his fencing things to the school charity case, then his father would buy him new, better things.”

“Nice,” Merlin said sarcastically, imagining little Arthur working the system to get shiny new things.

Lance shook his head, chuckling. “He didn't _just_ give them to me. Here I was, swimming with a mask, jacket, plastron gloves and epee, no idea what to do with it all and trying not to get blood on anything and he says, 'I suppose now I have to teach you what to do with it, since you asked to have it all donated,' and it was just as well, since no one in the club was a challenge for him any more. So, he did. Taught me everything there was to know about fencing.

“He's never owned up to it, but, I was in trouble. On thin ice at school. It seems, in the admin's eyes, I had a jealous rage problem and a habit of attacking groups of two and three of the school's top senior foot ball playing alphas.”

Merlin snorted in incredulity. He didn't know Lance well, but he'd never met anyone who radiated goodness in such a way. He couldn't imagine present day Lance getting into ill-advised fights, let alone prepubescent Lance. Lance flashed him a smile and shrugged.

“It was the kind of place it was. So when Arthur Pendragon told them I'd sustained my injuries learning to fence,...”

“No one contradicted it.” Merlin said.

“Nope. So, Arthur taught me to fence, and I became very good. I even beat him sometimes. We won national championships. We became friends, and then best friends. I know it's not in vogue to say, but I do think of myself as a member of his pack. And I'm proud to be one. He's a man worth following.”

There was a clatter of the front door, then Arthur and Gwaine's voices discussing something mechanical sounding. They strode into the kitchen.

“You're finally awake,” Arthur commented.

Merlin smiled thinly and saluted him with his coffee mug.

“Oi, it's summer, we're allowed to relax,” Gwaine said from the vicinity of the fridge.

Arthur carried on as if Gwaine hadn't spoken. “You can make yourself useful, then. Get your computer.”

Merlin raised a brow. “Difficult as it may be to believe, you are not actually my Grand Alpha on High.”

Lance cleared his throat pointedly.

Arthur closed his eyes briefly, reopened then and then put on a polite smile. “Merlin. I'm sure you're never far from your laptop, as ready and prepared and devoted a scholar as you are. Would you please be so kind as to look up the times for the 4th celebrations?”

Merlin gave the sweetest smile he could manage and went to fetch his laptop from his room. When he came back down he discovered that Lance really was sainted and had made Merlin some eggs and sliced fruit.

“I would have have been happy with cold pizza.” Merlin told him while setting up the computer. Thankfully he'd already asked Freya about wifi and had the password scribbled down on a post it note. He'd been worried he might need internet in the dead of night.

“Nutritionally insufficient,” Lance said cheerfully, even though now he had to wash more dishes. “You're skin and bones as it is.”

The idea of Lance and Gwen joining forces in the epic quest to put meat on him was a little bit frightening. None the less Merlin laughed and dug into the eggs while his computer booted up.

“Well?” Arthur strolled up, a bottle of iced tea in hand.

“Arthur, “ Lance said warningly. Merlin saw them exchange a series of looks which ended in Arthur puffing out a big sigh and plopping down in another chair at the table. He waited quietly while Merlin finished his eggs and found the right website.

“Right. Big downtown celebration. Bike parade at noon, face painting, local booths and craft fair, annual fire fighters' water fight at 1. Ice cream social, band and dancing at the town square gazebo at 6:00 and fireworks at 8:45,” Merlin read off.

Arthur chewed this over, finger tapping on the bottle cap of his now finished drink. Then he got out his smartphone and began tapping away at it. When he spoke it was slowly, entering information after each decision made.

“All right. Then, tomorrow we're going to Elena's, the day after everyone's keen to go into town and see whatever super hero is demolishing civic buildings at million's of dollars worth of damages this summer, then we've got to prepare for the fourth and then the day of the fourth--”

“You're making a schedule?” Merlin asked, amused.

“Someone's got to. If it was left to you all we'd be 'winging it' into tardiness and traffic. A schedule ensures we all know where we are meant to be when.”

“Not all of us have secretaries to arrange our lives,” Merlin reminded him patiently.

Arthur gestured to the air around them. “Do you see a secretary anywhere, _Mer_ lin? It's a matter of being organized. Something I'm sure you've never heard of.”

Merlin just looked at him, pondering the true detriment of assaulting Arthur in the Bast's home. Worse than the Basts being upset would be the Wrath of Gwen.

“Yeah, it's not like I have a schedule of classes to keep and copious research to handle.” Merlin closed his laptop and began eating his strawberries.

“Gentlemen.” Lance joined them at the table. “Might we declare a truce for the weekend?”  
“I already tried, bur Arthur doesn't want to give up the opportunity to stab me with impunity.” Merlin said.

“That's not what was said,” Arthur said, then cleared his throat. “But Lancelot is right. Truce, Professor Emrys?” He had squared his shoulders and offered his hand, looking kindly and revoltingly diplomatic.

Merlin looked at the proffered hand. He sighed then, and reached out to shake it, half expecting to be caught in a crushing grip in challenge. The handshake was perfectly amicable, though, Arthur's grip warm and strong, neither too dominating nor limp. It was a handshake that was trustworthy, that promised to do what it said, a handshake that was all golden nobility. Which made it all the more insidious, for as trustworthy as it purported to be, Merlin rather doubted Arthur knew the meaning of the word 'truce'.

 

Arthur's planning met with a general acceptance at lunch at which time dinner responsibilities were divided up. Gwen and Lance got the Fourth of July bash to cook for, being the most talented cooks among them. Everyone had other nights, except Arthur, whom Lance assured them could not cook and would just order in from the most expensive place in the area and make everyone else feel small by comparison. Arthur protested this as slander and told them he could make eggs, which Gwaine solemnly proclaimed the 'post one-off refueling necessity of all single men' and thus nothing to brag about.

Merlin was paired up with Gwaine for that evening and was suddenly thankful for his mother's insistence that he leave for college with a host of cooking skills and a few basic dishes. She did this not because he was omega, as she told him, but out of fear he would try and survive on ramen and pb&j's and therefore fall straight into malnutrition and death, and blame would fall on her head for failing to teach her skinny child how to survive.

After a day of bumming around, paddling in the pool, reading or whatever indolent activities occurred, he and Gwaine headed for the kitchen. Under Gwaine's direction they made colcannon and sausages, and Gwaine insisted on beers all around for everyone. The night turned jovial swiftly.

Team LAFS picked up that night's game point in a game of Monopoly. Arthur won, hideously, and by such a margin that he didn't need the modest successes of his fellow teammates to inflate team LAFS' final net worth. It might have been Merlin's imagination, but Arthur seemed to take a certain amount of glee whenever Merlin landed on his properties and was forced to count out exorbitant amounts for double hotels. He didn't seem to enjoy it quite so much with everyone else. Because Merlin's luck was shit, he kept landing on bits Arthur owned and consequently was the first one out of the game. Arthur smirked when he drew the card for winning first prize in a beauty contest, Merlin had to subdue himself from rolling up the card and shoving it up his nose to make a nice change from all the anal violation he had thus far planned. It wasn't as if Arthur had really won a beauty contest, and if he had entered one he'd be docked points for personality defects.

Worse, Sophia could tell how much Arthur was enjoying making Merlin miserable and she clearly felt he shouldn't be paying him so much attention. By the end of the game her collar seemed to have slid down three inches so plentiful cleavage basically sat on the coffee table on top of her money. In one instance she had to lift up her left tit for a fifty. She had Gwaine's undivided attention, but she kept asking Arthur's advice on buying property, and pouted outrageously when she landed on spaces Arthur owned. This was mostly unsuccessful, so half way through she started staring daggers at Merlin.

Merlin went to bed feeling crotchety and put upon.

Elena arrived bright and early the next morning, which was unfair as Merlin had seen her suck down at least five beers the previous night. Merlin was first aware of her when she popped into the room Merlin and Gwen shared and hurled granola bars at them where they lay shouting “Up and at 'em, lazy bones! The early bird gets the worm! Up, up!”

Grudgingly, and still mostly asleep, Merlin spilled out of bed and fumbled for some trousers.

“Those are on backwards.” Gwen said from her position picking out clothes at the closet.

Merlin looked down and grumbled. He righted his trousers and blearily made sure the rest of his clothes matched and were right side out and stumbled out to join the other sleepy looking guests. They filed downstairs where Gwen, by now repulsively perky, helped Lance put together a hasty lunch and distribute coffee, giggling as if they were twitterpated.

They all packed into Gwaine's SUV and Elena's mud spattered truck, except for Arthur, who disliked being packed in like a sardine and insisted on taking his Mercedes.

Elena's ranch was up on a hillside on a tree-smattered length of land. On the long driveway they passed several fields and paddocks, entering the ranch proper under a big gate with wrought iron letters reading _Godwyn Stables_. Elena told them that Godwyn Stables gave riding lessons, boarded horses and trained and competed show horses.

They disembarked in early morning light at a stables where they were introduced to Grunhilda, the head groom. She and one other groom stood at the ready to facilitate.

This was no shorthand lesson, as Elena took horses very seriously. Merlin felt awkward and out of his element as he was led to a stall where a massive beige-toned beast stood munching and looking at him with doleful eyes. Grunhilda assured him that Bitsy was gentle as a lamb, but all Merlin could think of was the wolves that lurked under lambskins.

They were shown how to lead their horses, tie them, groom and saddle them. This apparently built trust and familiarity and let the horses get used to their scents, though Merlin let Grunhilda put the bridle on because horses had terrifying-looking teeth and he was going nowhere near them.

He gave Gwen the finger when she giggled at him. He had at least put the saddle on. Sophia refused to saddle or groom the horse, and skittered back with a dramatic squeak whenever the horse so much as shifted its weight. The groom in charge of that half of the circle ended up exclusively helping Sophia once being waved off by Arthur

Eventually everyone was mounted, lectured on basic walking, halting and turning and before Merlin knew it they were off at a sedate pace on what Elena promised was an easy trail.

Gwen had been a camp counselor through high school and college. Though she protested it had been years she seemed to reclaim the skill quickly and was able to give Merlin and Gwaine pointers. Gwaine was new, but game. Freya was no stranger to horses either; and, being friends with Elena, how could she be?

Arthur and Lance were clearly old hands in the saddle. It shouldn't have been surprising, since Arthur also fenced and messed around on boats. Merlin could well understand Uther sending his son off to play polo, or any other ridiculously expensive and slightly snooty sport that could be watched while people wore fancy hats. Where Arthur went Lance was sure to follow. They both looked disgustingly handsome in their saddles. How Arthur had come to be riding the white one (Stallion? Gelding? Mare? Merlin hadn't leaned over to investigate the undercarriage) that made his epic blondness look like a shining prince was unknown, though Merlin suspected a conspiracy on behalf of the grooms. Arthur had the temerity to look absolutely gorgeous while astride it. Arthur had impressive thighs, even from an unbiased, disinterested perspective, such as Merlin's.

Granted, those thighs were often obscured from sight by Sophia who was sticking close to Arthur's side, asking for constant verification she was managing her steed, giggling about how she felt like Lady Godiva and gushing about his skill in the saddle. It was all very gratifying for the spectator, and since Arthur was still a dick Merlin was beginning to root for Arthur and Sophia to get hitched, in the secret corners of his brain. Arthur almost deserved such a fate.

Lance and Arthur rode just behind Elena until she was convinced they knew what they were doing. It didn't take long, and then Elena then fell back to riding alongside the slower group, chatting amiably and flirting with Gwaine. Apparently Merlin and Gwaine were the ones who hadn't spent their youth charging across the open prairies on the backs of their trusty steeds. Well. Merlin with the prairies, Gwaine with the Irish equivalent. Moors? No, that sounded like it required a kilt.

Merlin had never ridden a horse before and with a bit of luck never would again. He felt uncomfortable atop an animal that could trample him if given the opportunity. Although according to Gwen he was doing well, which made Merlin feel content that his attempts to hide his discomfort were successful-- not only because it ruled out equine mauling if it scented fear, but it gave him faith he was being similarly successful at hiding other emotions. Since deception was at a premium this weekend, he was glad of it.

He clipped along between Gwen and Freya for the ride, the three of them nattering on about this and that, until Arthur negotiated his horse up alongside Merlin's with ease.

“Bad form, Merlin, straighten your spine,” he said.

“Thank you, Sire,” Merlin said sarcastically, but made the necessary adjustments. He looked around and found Sophia peering back at them, and then unexpectedly making her horse go sideways. She fluttered in needless alarm, but, unfortunately for her, was rescued by Lance and his substandard genitals.

“Better. We'll make a rider out of you yet.” Arthur didn't notice Sophia's minor difficulty, but still seemed to be appraising Merlin's horsemanship form.

“I'd rather have my eyes pried out by pygmies with power drills,” Merlin muttered.

“Very evocative, Merlin. The stirrup should be at the ball of your foot.” Arthur pointed.

Merlin tightened his hands on the reins as a preventative against giving Arthur the finger.

 

They lunched on slightly squashed sandwiches cherries and grapes on a cluster of rocks atop a crest overlooking the lake. The bright blue green of the water was criss-crossed with white lines; there were so many boats about, some going high speed and dragging skiers. The beaches were a multicolored Seurat of bathers, movement translating into buzzing color. Even from on high you could see stars and stripes bunting on the lakeside homes in readiness for the holiday.

Merlin chose a boulder farthest away from his horse. Though indeed Bitsy had been sedate, Merlin still worried that it was all to lull him into a false sense of security.

“By the way, Merlin, I read an article on your study, about the suppressants,” Lance said midway through the meal. He'd sat near to Gwen and Merlin, forming a small triangle.

It was evidence the man was in line for sainthood, and was Gwen's match, really. Who else would have bothered? Still, Merlin smiled. “I'm impressed, you didn't have to do that.”

“Well, I was interested, having talked to you about it during its genesis. You didn't disappoint. All the reasons people have for taking them. I was surprised how many betas there were, and I couldn't help but wonder; isn't it unhealthy for betas to take medication intended for alphas or omegas?” Lance asked.

Merlin gestured with a cherry. “Yes, it is. I know when they run commercials they just give one name, but technically, there are variations. Betas tend to take Anosmian, since the only thing it does is work on the genfume anal gland to suppress sexugender scent, so it's safe for everyone to take. And it's the cheapest.”

“So, the other medications..?”

Merlin tried not to get too professor-y, but, well, it was a topic close to his heart.“They handle more aspects of your sexugender on top of blocking your smell. When you're prescribed Culofactozine, for example, you'll either be given Culfactozine Zero for betas, Culofactozine Megale for omegas or Culofactozine Aleph for alphas. There are versions for the ag sexugenders too, all specially formulated to that sexugender's biology.” He made a mental note to hide his own deep in the depths of his luggage, just as a precautionary matter.

Gwen expanded. “In omegas, Culofactozine will also regulate and minimize heats, lessen the extreme hormone cravings, make them less susceptible to rut scent, those kinds of things. In alphas, it manages aggression, lessens the impact of scent, and decreases the urge to impregnate. Limbria does all that too, but also acts as a birth control.”

“And all of them come with the charming side effects of decreased sex drive, depression and constipation,” Arthur chimed in from a distance, proving he had ears like a bloody bat to hear them over Sophia's wittering.

Merlin was not going to defend either his sex drive or his intestinal regularity. He frowned, though Gwen laughed and agreed there was a possibility of all three and more.

With Sophia trailing behind Arthur strolled up, half eaten sandwich in his hand. “I'm not sure why anyone takes the stuff,” he said, eyes on Merlin and clearly wanting an answer to the unspoken question. Merlin took great interest in breaking a few grapes off the cluster.

“You would if you read Merlin's study,” Gwen said, but not unkindly.   
“People need to be more satisfied with what they are, not become what they wish they were.” Arthur said.

“Did you hear that?” Merlin asked Gwen. “That's the sound of the entire trans-physiogendered community starting up a lynch mob.”

Gwen tried not to snort with laughter, turning the nasal sound into a half cough. Then she blushed, having done so in front of Lance. He just beamed at her. Merlin was aware of Arthur staring at him even as he was enjoying Lance and Gwen's intricate dance with looks and gestures.

“TP-gendered is one thing. But blockers? All these nutters getting artificial rectorular canines to make them feel more alpha? Christ, or that betafem who petitioned to have her genfume gland replaced with the one from her dead femega sister? It's ridiculous,” Arthur said.

“Oh, so you've got the right and authority to tell other people who to be, how to be it and whether or not they should be satisfied with that they've got? As I recall there is some fairly compelling photographic evidence that Senator Pendragon got a hair transplant a few years ago. Was he not satisfied with what hair he had?” Merlin said, and felt victorious when Arthur went ever so slightly pink. A rebuttal wasn't far off, however.

“Cosmetic surgery is one thing, Merlin; it's another thing to lie and change the very foundations of your identity. Since when did it become wrong for people to be and respect what they are, instead of changing to fit some absurd whim?”

Merlin drew breath and opened his mouth to respond about physicality not being a foundation, only to be interrupted by Elena. “Come on, folks, it's back in the saddle time!”

WHEN were people going to stop interrupting before Merlin got the last word? He was fuming with the utter horror of it all, and the arrogance of Arthur just assuming he had the right to tell other people how to be. While everyone rose, stretched and headed for their horses Gwaine came round with a plastic bag for the trash.

He approached Merlin, and nodded at his fist. “And when will you be granting mercy for the unfortunate P.O.W there?”

Merlin realized he'd wadded the remaining bit of his sandwich into his fist and now had mustard smeared on his hand. He sighed and discarded it and his baggie with one remaining cherry into the trash bag.

“Tsk. Waste not.” Gwaine fished the bag out and retrieved the cherry. “Don't let him rile you. I think he rather enjoys it.”

“He's an --” Merlin stopped himself before fully letting loose. “-- ignorant alpha douchebag.”

“I'll pretend you didn't just lump me in with him. Though it would be a most distinguished club of handsome rogues.” Gwaine waggled his brows enticingly. He popped the cherry into his mouth, his jaw worked in a suggestive manner, lips puckering and about ten seconds later he stuck out his tongue where the stem lay, neatly tied in a knot. Merlin couldn't help but laugh. Gwaine plucked the knotted stem and tried to give it to Merlin as a memento, but with one thing and another (i.e. Merlin trying to refuse a spit-covered trophy of Gwaine's oral prowess and Gwaine loudly endorsing that he be allowed to 'knot' Merlin) it ended up lost in the dust. Still, afterward Merlin was laughing, and he realized how deliberate a goading it was on Gwaine's part, and he was grateful for it.

Getting back on the horse was a challenge, but Merlin managed it under the steam power of his lingering irritation at Arthur and Elena giving his ass a shove. When they returned to the stables Elena gave directions on how to cool down, groom and er, undress the horse. Stable hands also distributed treats to feed their animals for not throwing them and commencing with the trampling. By this point Merlin was only too glad to stop. The insides of his thighs were sore. When he made this comment heading toward the car, Elena gave a wicked laugh.

“You need to spend more time astride with a big beast between your thighs,” Elena said, winking. “At least, that's my method!”

Sophia grimaced in disgust.

Gwaine grinned at her brightly. “A woman after my own heart.”

“Oh, was it your heart I was appealing to? I was aiming lower.” Elena grinned cheekily at Gwaine from under the brim of her straw cowboy hat.

“You're welcome to take a second shot,” Gwaine invited, leaning his hip against the front of his vehicle.

“You started this,” Gwen reminded Merlin as they trooped to the passenger side and watched Gwaine and Elena smile at one an other. “Why couldn't you keep your thighs to yourself?”

“Does Merlin like to spread his thighs around, then?” Arthur drawled on the way by to his now dusty Mercedes.

“Don't you start,” Merlin snapped, pointing at Arthur.

“Children, peace,” Gwen called and Merlin complied by getting into the car so he wouldn't have to talk to anyone. He sat there, arms crossed and slouched down, aware he looked like a sullen teenager but not quite ready to do anything about it.

Gwen watched Gwaine through the windshield. “I thought he was still sort of courting you?” she asked hesitatingly.

Merlin tilted his head to look around the seat in front of him to see Gwaine smiling at Elena. He shrugged. “It's Gwaine.”

“ Merlin, I'm sure Arthur--”

“Leave it, Gwen.”

They drove up to the house, which was big and sprawling by virtue of a few additions. Mr. and Mrs. Godwyn were merry people, and greeted them warmly. They were given a tour of the house and some of the other animals kept on the grounds, like the chicken coop and a pen of goats. They met dogs, and Elena's terrarium of exotic frogs.

Mrs. Godwyn sat them down to a feast of barbecue, cornbread, braised greens, french fries, and macaroni and cheese and everyone stuffed themselves silly, until they had to sit around on the porch to recover.

At sundown Elena gathered them for cocoa zin, a sort of chocolate wine and a Twister deathmatch.

“You should be good at this, Merlin, you're quite limber,” Gwen said encouragingly as Merlin stared at the box with its cheerful dots in mute horror. One glass of wine had not prepared him for this, even if it had lightened his mood somewhat. Sure, he'd scrubbed himself with his special soap and dotted himself with beta hormones, but he'd been on a horse sweating all day. Having someone's face in the general vicinity of his ass made his stomach bottom out and his already achy thighs clench with anxiety.

Elena set the game up in the Godwyn's living room while Freya distributed pots of chilled chocolate pudding and the players assembled.

“I'm thinking two matches, if one team wins both, good, if not the winners go into a final match.” Elena described while Lance helped her unfold the mat. “Two from each team at a time.”

“Right.” Arthur took charge of his team. “I'll go in first--”

Sophia perched on the arm of the chair. “I'll go first, too.” she volunteered, smiling sweetly.

Merlin resisted rolling his eyes and went to claim the spinner. There was no way he was twining himself around Arthur Pendragon.

The first match was Arthur and Sophia versus Gwaine and Elena. The players squared off barefoot around the mat.

“You're going down, Pendragon!” Elena said gleefully. “My alpha's got bigger stones than you.”

“Keep that up and this competition will turn nude and oiled.” Gwaine said and was met with choruses of gleeful exasperation.

“...Who gets to participate and who gets to watch that competition?” Freya asked from the couch, grinning softly as she swayed her glass of cocoa zin.

“Freya, I knew there was a smoldering vixen under there who could appreciate a few Grecian bodies locked in combat,” Gwaine grinned and wiggled his brows.

“She could sketch it, send them out as Christmas cards with bits of holly around your junk,” Merlin muttered.

“I'll not be wanting something that sharp 'round about my cock; what about you Pendragon, fancy a bit of pain play?” Gwaine asked.

“Focus, please,” Arthur said.

Merlin spun and they were off to right hand red.. They inched their way onto the mat, bodies tangling in something that did look a little perverse. Sophia somehow ended up half curled under Arthur. She had gone red with an embarrassed flush, and apologized compulsively every time her upturned bottom bounced lightly along Arthur's thigh. It made Merlin spin very aggressively, that sight, even though he had no cause to feel so. She tumbled out about a turn later, too precariously unbalanced and distracted.

Elena stretched herself in rather suggestive ways between the bulk of Arthur and Gwaine. Unfortunately in doing so, she blocked Gwaine from reaching his right hand to green and he was out. It left Arthur and Elena in a competitive battle. They were move for move, Arthur's concentration fierce, when Merlin called left foot blue. He shot his foot out, stretched it to take the blue dot Elena could most easily have reached. She hissed, and began slowly twisting and stretching to reach the next one over. It was all for naught though, for she became unbalanced and toppled over.

Arthur rose, smoothed his clothing, but didn't say a word.

Merlin ceded the spinner to Sophia and ruefully took place at the edge of the mat. Though he would be on the mat with Gwen and Freya, with only Lance to worry about.

He gave a shaky smile. “I haven't played this since college.”

“Nor had I,” Gwaine said. “I'm not sure I'm as flexible as I was then.”

“And the masses wept,” Gwen said solemnly.

Right foot red. Right hand red. Left foot yellow. Merlin played in his own little space, half the board obscured by Gwen's thick curtain of curly hair where she was bent, giggling. Neither she nor Lance lasted long, though Merlin doubted it had anything to do with skill, and everything to do with Gwen and Lance being distracted by one and other. It left him and Freya and the realization that if he won, if he won … he'd be facing off with Arthur. And there would be touching, of a kind.

In Merlin's mind he liked to think his general dislike of Arthur would prevent incident, but that was a big fat lie and his heart knew it. The last place he wanted to be was tucked up under Arthur, as Sophia had been, breathing the smell of him in, feeling his solidity, his heat, sliding hip to hip or chest to back. Or any other capacity that would give the inevitable erection away.

But that would leave Freya in the mini championship, and though he adored Freya, he couldn't quite see her being victorious against the fiercely competitive Pendragon. She was very responsive to energy and vibrations people gave off, and would likely wilt under Arthur's determination to triumph over her. Which would give Arthur's team the lead, and Merlin was loath to do that. The three-legged race still burned in Merlin's brain. He didn't want to cede anything to the overgrown prat. He also didn't want to think of himself as the sort of man who would cheat at a game, and it was cheating, of a fashion. Not playing to your utmost, rigging the result.

On the other hand, a measure of self preservation was of greater value than the authenticity of a game of Twister.

When all was said and done and Merlin picked himself off his ass after what he felt was a credible over-extension and tumble he felt Gwen's eyes probing him, hard and long. He couldn't shake the feeling that she knew what he'd done.

As predicted, Arthur won and put his team in the lead.

They loaded into cars and made the short drive back to Freya's house. Everyone was sore but satisfied, and soon thereafter fell into bed.

 

ᴥ

Arthur's hand was splayed on his belly, fingers sliding over the sparse hair there, grazing the sensitive lines of hip leading to his groin, almost proprietary. They moved together, and it was good, so good, being covered by him. The repeated, heated press over and over, Arthur over him, atop him. Warm skin, the hair on his chest brushing at Merlin's back with every rocking motion, one arm stretched out to hold the headboard, gorgeous arms that could hold up anything ...

“Merlin.”

He was so close, so near to spiraling apart. Arthur behind him, cooing his name so Merlin didn't care his face was pressed to the pillow . Ah! And there was the hint of something more, Arthur fucking him open just a little more, a little harder, so Merlin could feel the swelling of his knot kissing his rim.

“Merlin!”

The undulating motion seemed to intensify, everything surging nearer and nearer as Merlin tried to pump back. God, he wanted to feel it inside, the real thing, not a silicon toy, not plastic, not an inert facsimile his imagination had to give life to, but a real flesh, throbbing, claiming, hot --

“Merlin!” Arthur's cream-and-coffee voice became Gwen's and Merlin started awake, jerking out of the impending bliss to the sensation of someone shaking his arm. He opened his eyes and saw Gwen standing beside him, peering at him through the slats. She looked a bit pink in the face, though Merlin's scrambled brain could make neither heads nor tails of it for a few long moments. Why was Gwen watching him and Arthu---waitasec.

Merlin rubbed his legs together and found himself erect, and his pajamas damp. He groaned and buried his face in the pillow, heat of embarrassment flooding him. He rolled his head just enough to peek one eye at Gwen.

“Did – was I . . .?”

Gwen's smile was apologetic, but humor was bleeding into the corners of it. “Uh, yeah. You were dreaming.”

Merlin groaned again and rolled, then found he was lying in a wet spot. He sat up, throwing back the blankets to look at the damage. While not bad, that was certainly a blotch where yonic fluid had seeped onto the bedsheets.

Merlin felt the first flutters of real panic. It was about the radius of a golf ball, not much in the grand scheme of things. However, it was the most incriminating smell on the planet, as far as Arthur was concerned.

This was precisely what he had been trying to avoid, what he had avoided, thus far by hiding his pill bottle in one dirty sock, his beta hormones in another and his lube pads in with Gwen's auxiliary menstrual supplies. Of course his body would betray him when he was unable to control it.

Merlin pressed his hands over his face, breathing accelerated, lingering arousal dissipating as the full and potential consequences rained down on him. “Oh, shit. Shit. Christ, oh -- Gwen, what am I going to do?!” He felt panic rising in his chest. “I can't let anyone smell this!”

“It's going to be fine, Merlin.” Gwen said.

Fear lodged in his throat. “No! It's on the bed, oh god, it's on the bed, Gwen! He's gonna know, he's gonna smell and he's going to come in here and he'll be so mad and--”

“Merlin. Shh, stop. It's okay. Come down.” Gwen's voice was both soothing and authoritative.

Merlin obeyed, shuffling around the disheveled bedding and climbing down the ladder. His pajamas were stuck to him in the crotch area uncomfortably with pre-come and yonic fluid. He caged his hands over himself with embarrassment. It was so awful and exposing, having someone see him brought so low.

Gwen had already pulled the blankets off. When he stepped off the ladder though she stopped and came to him. Without letting their bodies touch below waist level she hugged him softly, a hand cupping over the back of his head. Until she did so, Merlin hadn't realize he was trembling. He was thrumming in her arms as the fearful images of terrible consequences rolled through his mind.

“Shh. Calm down. Breathe. That's good. In and out. It's going to be fine, Merlin. I'm here, we'll take care of this.”

She stroked his hair, and slowly Merlin felt the helpless jitters cease. When they had, when he'd slowed his breathing Gwen leaned back. She took a steadying hold of his arms and looked him in the eye. “I want you to take those things off while I strip the bed. I'll take everything downstairs and put them in the washer. Go ahead and put on my robe and stay here until I come back.”

Merlin swallowed and nodded. She left him to pull most of the bedding free. Merlin shimmied his way out of the pajamas, and pulled on Gwen's silk lavender bathrobe. He helped her roll the pajamas up in the sheets, wet spot in the middle.

They approached the door. Soundlessly, Merlin opened it just enough for Gwen to slip her head out and check the corridor. She nodded to him and mouthed 'stay here' before tiptoeing out.

Merlin closed the door, and then wrapped his arms around himself, as if there was some physical protection from the dream and the absolute danger he was flirting with. It was two am, but all the same, just down the hall Arthur was sleeping. What if the smell wafted beneath the crack under the door and sent him galloping in here like a great blond water buffalo enraged with lust? What if Lance smelled it? Surely he would relate such news to his dear friend immediately. So Merlin wedged a pair of trousers along the crack under the door and then went to open both windows.

While he waited for Gwen he stood by the window fanning out the warm sex-scented air with a big coffee table book; _Illustrated Jesus Through the Centuries_ and pondering just how quickly he was going to be sent to hell. Which was a more soothing process than thinking how vivid his dream had been or about the content.

It didn't last long, though. He was soon back to furtive over-imaginings of being chained naked to Arthur's bed while Uther laughed at him maniacally and took pictures of his state of arousal to give to all the major news networks about the place of omegas and how much they enjoyed debasement. He was startled from those grim thoughts when the sotto thrum of voices registered through his terror and arousal burned brain. He stopped fanning and slipped over on silent feet to press his ear against the door to listen.

The voices were no more than murmurs, one the familiar ripple of Gwen's, the other male and difficult to pick out. Merlin's heart stuttered in his chest and his mouth went dry. With brow furrowed he strained to discern, offering faint praise to the heavens that it not be Arthur. Anyone but Arthur.

When the door tipped open he staggered back while the door got hung up on the trousers. He dragged them out of the way while Gwen slithered in.

“What was that?” she pointed to the trousers.

“Precaution. Who was that?”

“Sheets are in the washer.”

“Who were you talking to?” Merlin said more urgently.

“Lance. It seems Arthur's having a baaaad dream.” Gwen waggled her brows at him, drawing out the 'bad' to mean anything but. “He went to get him some water, and some space.”

From the back of her pajama bottoms she pulled a slim aerosol can. Merlin recognized it as the Febreeze from the downstairs bathroom. He nodded and Gwen gave the can a shake and spritzed the air and the bedding.

“I've got to wash.” Merlin whispered, shifting his weight.

Gwen shook her head. “Arthur's in the one down the hall. And Sophia and Freya have the master bath...”

“And the one downstairs doesn't have a shower.” Merlin said.

Gwen rubbed her cheek, staring at the open window. “I guess you're going to have to skinny dip.”

Merlin sighed. “I was really hoping you'd come up with another idea.”

With Merlin bundled in a bathrobe, their arms full of towels, soap, change of clothes and a pint of ice cream they slipped out of the house, down the path through the woods, onto the beach and dock. The night was balmy, so at least Merlin wasn't going to freeze his testicles off.

Still, he gritted his teeth against protest when he lowered himself into the cool lake halfway along the private dock, and stood in the waist deep water. The moon reflected a high silver sliver across the lake's surface, now rippling in sparkling bands with Merlin's intrusion. The night cast the world in shades of blue, broken by the golden light that beamed from a few windows.

He reached for the special hormone masking soap.

“Wait--is that biodegradeable?” Gwen asked.

“Really, Gwen?” Merlin looked at her. “Is this primary among my concerns right now?”

“Fine. Pollute the Earth,” she said. However, she began to rinse out his pajamas in between bites of ice cream, so she couldn't have been too upset. As a doctor she wasn't as picky about other people's bodily fluids as she might otherwise be. In fact, it was a testament to Gwen herself that Merlin wasn't dying of mortification about the whole matter. He was still embarrassed, no mistaking that, but there was a warm support radiating from his friend at all time. It was part of what made her such a good a doctor, Merlin reckoned. That, and keeping a cool head when he'd nearly lost his own.

Merlin set to abrading his body heavily and washing. He also sent a small apology to the ecosystem he might have been slightly bruising.

“You know you were moaning Arthur's name, don't you?” Gwen didn't let the silence lull much.

“We are not discussing this, Gwen.”

“Why not? The fact that Arthur was apparently having an intense enough dream to wake Lance at the same time you were writhing around is not uninteresting. In fact, I'd go so far as to say it's scientifically intriguing.”

“If I admit to being intrigued could we drop it?” Merlin tried.

Gwen shook her head. “Nope. You threw the game today, and practically gave the point to Arthur, don't think I didn't notice. You owe me.”

Merlin turned his back to her and waded out of the water enough to expose his genitals which he began thoroughly and somewhat harshly scrubbing, since he was a little miffed they'd gotten him into this mess.

“You have a scrawny hinder.” Gwen kicked some water at him. He absently splashed back, but as there was no squeak of upset, he assumed he missed.

“I just don't see what would be so bad about being happy,” Gwen continued as Merlin rinsed and began to wash a second time, just to be sure.

Merlin snorted. “You assume my getting together with Arthur would make me happy. Nothing's changed since the last time we discussed it, Gwen.”

She twirled her spoon through the ice cream. “At least you could be having good sex.”

“And then?”

“And then what? It doesn't have to be all planned out, Merlin. Life doesn't have a syllabus. It could be a little messy while you two sort things out.”

Merlin sighed, and finished scrubbing he waded back over to her. Gwen covered her eyes and Merlin popped out and wrapped a towel around himself. He sat beside her on the dock then, feet still in the water.

“Let's ignore my continued insistence that I don't want anything to do with Arthur Pendragon and the copious evidence to back up that opinion and enter some bizarre alternate universe where he and I did get together.” he said, drying off his limbs. “Do you see Arthur saying 'Okay Hunny, I thought I'd take five or six years off working for my multi-billion dollar company my father left me to raise the kids as a stay at home dad.'? No. He'll expect, as I'm the one who popped them out, I'll be the one to quit work and raise them. That is, if he hasn't already made me move away from my job because it was so far less important and financially rewarding than his,” Merlin said, sarcasm biting.

“Don't be dramatic, Merlin, plenty of people raise children with both parents working. Arthur was probably raised by a nanny,” Gwen retorted, setting the empty carton of ice cream down.

“I want to think that at least one part of a partner ship would be committed and excited enough about the children to want to leave work to spend time raising the kids. Kids deserve full time parents. They aren't just little machines for inheritances.” Merlin shook his head. “It's not that I'm diminishing anyone Gwen, it's a good life for some people, it's the best joy there is, raising a family. Just, not for me. I don't want to stay home all day changing diapers and playing Candyland, for my greatest intellectual challenge to be figuring out how to make my kid eat his strained peas, to be forced to give up everything I've worked so hard for in my career.” he said, running a hand through wet hair. A disconnect between people who did want children and who didn't, each feeling the other was belittling them for their choice. It was hardly a new conflict.

“I want kids, Merlin, and I'll keep my job, I want to work too. My husband can keep his. No one is going to be cheated, children aren't burdens.” Gwen said. She withdrew her legs from where they had been swishing amiably beside Merlin's in the water and wedged her heels on the edge of the dock.

Merlin reached over and took her hand. “Of course you'll have all that, Gwen, I have no doubt you'll make it happen. You want it. That's just it, I don't.”

“You might change your mind; people do, all the time. Besides, are you really telling me you're not giving you and Arthur a chance because you don't want to be a mother? Hello, birth control.”

“Oh he'll want kids. And he'll want me to move away. And quit my job. And start catering to his social calendar and throwing brunches for important people. And he'll want me to eat holiday meals with Uther Pendragon and I'm not sure I can do that and hold my gorge down.” Merlin sighed. “Can't we just agree to disagree on this?”

“Yeah. When you stop humping the space above my head.”

 

ᴥ

_Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers; The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

_Subject: Lopez, Santana._

_Sexugender./Physiogender: Betafem_

_Orientation: Homosexual_

_Marital Status: Committed Monogamous Relationship._

_“Look. Prejudice is still pretty bad for non-breeding couples, especially when one is omega. The church still preaches it's wrong, my Nana thinks I'm going to hell. I just want to be with my girlfriend and not have to worry because she's omega and I'm beta. People don't always say things, but you can tell when they look at you, like you should be allowed. Or they do say things, behind their hands or to your face. It doesn't matter how happy we are, how long we've been dating. All that matters is they think I'm wrong for her. And I'm not. We're perfect. But everyone on the street gets to decide I shouldn't get to date my girl because I'm not a malpha like it's their business? No. No way. It's not wrong to want to get a cup of coffee without everyone judging every aspect of who you are and what they do. Hiding is a small price. No one can say shit to us if they can't tell who or what we are. Not that it was any of their business anyway.”_

ᴥ

Despite a tiring day and a very late night, Merlin had trouble falling back to sleep, and awoke earlier than he would have liked. Still, it would have been childish and indulgent to sulk in bed, so he made himself get up, dress and go downstairs. In the kitchen he found a note announcing that everyone had gone grocery shopping.

With some much needed alone time in the offing Merlin set up his laptop at the kitchen, made a cup of coffee and settled in to do a little reading. Anything to rob his brain of the opportunity to obsess about what had happened the previous night.

He was knee-deep in an article about the woefully disproportionate statistics of media representations of alphas and omegas, with alphas always being shown as male, and omegas as female, despite it not reflecting the actual population when someone padded into the kitchen.

Arthur.

Merlin stared hard at the screen, refusing to pay any attention to him. His stomach flip flopped. Why was the prat here? Why hadn't he gone grocery shopping with everyone else instead of loitering around to pounce on Merlin while they were alone?

Merlin was pretty sure he felt his cheeks heating up as his brain automatically flashed to the previous night despite his efforts. Most of the dream he'd been having was lost to the mysterious memory dulling process of awakening suddenly, but there were flashes; strong memories of certain points in the dream which were the most vivid. The most erotic. Which was not helpful at all, because at the same time he remembered Arthur on the ride, pontificating about misguided people and their personal choices as regarded their bodies and lifestyles.

He redoubled effort to act normal. Ignore Arthur.

It worked well until Arthur came and took a seat next to him.

“Do you want something?” Merlin said, somewhat archly.

“Look,” Arthur said, his hands spread wide and his tone diplomatic. “I might've been a bit forceful yesterday.”

Merlin raised a brow.

Arthur scowled. “All right, I was rude. I didn't mean most of what I said- well, not the way it came out.”

“Oh?”

“No, it's … look, have you eaten, yet?”

Merlin waggled his coffee cup at him.

“That's not actually food, you know. It's a wonder you haven't starved to death.” Arthur said, and rose. He headed into the kitchen proper and brought back two slices of toast thick with jam. He laid them beside Merlin's laptop and then returned to the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Merlin said, trying not to sound grudging. He picked up a square and took a bite.

Merlin watched Arthur pour a glass of water from the tap, then fumble in his pocket . Arthur produced an oblong pink pill,downed it, chased it with water, then poured himself a cup of coffee and resumed his seat.

After a few minutes awkward crunching under the quiet scrutiny of Arthur he raised his brows. “You wanted something?”

“I'm trying to make sure this comes out right.”

“New to the language?” Merlin picked up the second piece of toast.

“No, just -- every time I talk to you things seem to come out wrong. Or, not wrong, just more belligerent than I mean them to be. There's something about you, Merlin,” Arthur said.

Merlin sat in quiet while Arthur got up and added sugar and cream to his cup of coffee, which made the stalling all the more blatant, though, regrettably, somewhat endearing because Merlin doubted that Arthur backed away from things he was determined to do. Instead, this was really a gathering of the self, of the words.

However, Merlin didn't allow himself to get his hopes up regarding the content of what Arthur actually wanted to say. But then, should he? Shouldn't he hope Arthur remained a dick in his eyes, thus making any further dreams about his dick unlikely?

“I am sorry for my behavior,” Arthur finally enunciated slowly, his eyes on the table top.

Merlin was a generous soul. He did not commend Arthur for knowing about the S word. “Oh?”

Arthur looked up, but made a little conceding gesture. “Though Spring Run is intense. I didn't mean to be rude, but as a beta you really can't understand what it's like. It's just a smell to you, all the willing omegas and the competing alphas, but for us it's this powerful compulsion. Every breath is like an order to master everyone around you, whether you're fighting or mating. Betas aren't beholden to the same mating processes and urges as alphas and omegas, are they?”

Well, he couldn't deny it. Merlin shook his head. “No.”

“So you can't know how amped we get, how extreme it is, especially for the alphas. All the omegas have to do is look and smell good. It's the alpha who is supposed to hunt down their mate, and do all the chasing, the fighting, show themselves off as worthy mates. And that's not some societal expectation, that's biology, and you can't argue with it.”   
Well he could, maybe a little bit, but Merlin decided he was enduring as the gracious member of this duo, and he sipped his coffee in quiet and let Arthur talk.

“And I've been to a lot of runs. Over ten years worth. It doesn't get easier, and you meet so many people they all bleed together, people you are never going to see again. It's not spring break in Cancun, it's Spring Run in Montana. It's not meant to be a party, despite how they dress it up, it's meant to be a place to find your mate.”

God, it just hung there. How could he let it just hang there, that juicy apple so temptingly within reach? How could Merlin resist it?

“I've noticed that's something you haven't done,” Merlin said, eyes on the little halo of gold the overhead recessed lighting made on Arthur's hair. He was leaning on the table, his forearms braced, hands caged around his steaming coffee mug, lending an intimate air to the conversation.

Arthur stiffened a little, then shrugged. “Yeah, well. Not for lack of trying.” He finally lifted his cup to sip.

Merlin tore his gaze from Arthur and stared into his own cup, trying hard for casual. “Why not? There were thousands of omegas there.”

“Not mine.” Arthur said, mouth set as he poured them each another finger of brandy. Clearly he didn't realize Lance had been a little bit liberal with the events following the Run with his almost- girlfriend.

Merlin wasn't quite ready to give up, despite the unyielding reception to the question. “One could have been yours. Just, you know, bend one over a nice looking rock and--”

“No.”

“No?”

“The actual details of my personal life still aren't your business.” Arthur reminded him, but there wasn't any heat to the tone. “I just wanted you to understand why I got a little carried away. Whether or not it's PC to say, when you're at Run, all these juices are flowing and you run into a mouthy rogue beta? All you want to do to pin zer down and subdue ze, scent ze, and put zer into your pack so they'll shut up while you're looking for a mate.”

Merlin refused to squirm at the dream memory of Arthur covering him, of Arthur...getting on with all kinds of primitive bullshit most humans had the common sense to move past.

“Well, it explains Lance's Eau de Arturus,” he said.

“That's between Lance and me,” Arthur said. “And what I said today, it's not that I don't think people should be free to do whatever bizarre things they want to do with their bodies. It's their body, after all. I just wish they didn't feel like they had to. And some people do want stupid nonsensical things. And blockers--”

“Yoo-Hoo! Good Morning!” Sophia chirruped from the doorway, one grocery bag in tow.

Arthur straightened while Sophia sashayed over on her tall heels. She was soon followed by the others, carrying bags and chatting. Merlin closed his laptop, happy for a chance to escape.

ᴥ

The superhero in question did indeed do several million dollars worth of damage to a city which the taxpayers were going to have to foot, but in the hero's defense? Better that than become enslaved to an evil overlord. The beta love interest was sufficiently shrill and got to tout a weapon when putting it in her hands made her look empowered while not actually impacting the plot in any way.

They came out into bright sunshine in downtown Silver Lake out of the little two-screen theater. Main street was all done up in scads of bunting, baskets with red, white and indigo petunias, and American flags stuck every which way, a great deal of care gone into preserving its 1950's architecture and flavor. Most of the old signs remained, even if Walker's Drug Store now was now actually a fussy clothing boutique. 

They strolled along, nattering on about the movie and doing a little window shopping. There were quite a few people about, and the town square was buzzing with preparations for the day after tomorrow. Gwen and Lance brought up the rear, strolling side by side. At the front was Arthur, Sophia with both her arms wound around one of his, leaving Gwaine Freya and Merlin to maintain the space between the two groups, with Merlin trying not to stare at the display directly in front of him.

“Well, Freya,” Gwaine said, “It looks to be you'll be having Arthur Pendragon as a brother-in-law.”

“If he had any sense he'd run away,” Freya said wistfully, watching the couple ahead.

Merlin squinted at those beside him, then ahead. While Sophia had nearly picked out the wedding date, venue and her nine bridesmaids, it was never going to happen. And not just because Merlin had insider information about Cinderella omega who left a gross towel in place of a glass slipper. One look at the rigid set to Arthur's shoulders, the way he didn't look down into her upturned face to speak to her told the entire tale. He wasn't shaking her off so as not to be rude, but—and now that was a thought. Arthur, sparing Sophia's feelings?

Huh.

Who knew Sophia had feelings?

Well, outside of all the sycophantic and huffy ones. And the ingratiating ones, which were on full display when she served filet of sole and a variety of very small steamed vegetables for dinner, insisting that everyone sit down and dine properly, rather than eat and do other things. Bad for the digestion, apparently.

The food wasn't bad, but dinner turned out to be a little strange. With Arthur sitting at the head of the table, and somehow Sophia at the other end, guiding the conversation towards the safest and most benign conversational material known to man, it all had the feeling of a strained dinner party where the hosts had argued just before the guests arrived. Sophia was making quite the effort, showing off a variety of skills that Merlin knew would be vital for a society wife.

After dinner, however, the jovial atmosphere was reclaimed as they took over the living room for an active game of charades which had, among other things, Gwen acting terrified and hurling herself around dramatically for 'poltergeist', Gwaine doing an assortment of frankly mysterious things which ended up meaning 'cheese', Elena acting like Tinkerbelle en route to 'Fairy Queen' and Merlin himself inspiring hilarity with the phrase 'rope bondage'. And a very special performance that Merlin spent the entire evening grinning over; Arthur having to pretend to be a donkey.

It was almost worth the whole week.

In the end, it was MEGG who took the point. They had more people willing to totally humiliate themselves in the name of winning. Merlin smirked his way through his toilette then switched out with Gwen.

While he was in the bedroom putting away his things there was a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” Merlin called.

The door creaked open and Sophia presented herself. She smiled. “Can I come in?”

Admiral Ackbar started screaming 'It's A TRAP!' on his shoulder, but short of slamming the door on her he didn't know how to get rid of her, so he nodded.

Sophia closed the door behind her but didn't move out of the safe harbor of a near-by exit.

_This is not the omega you're looking for_ , _this is not the omega you're looking for_ Merlin tried to mentally send her off as a last resort.

“Look. I should really try to be nice about this, I mean, you're Freya's friend, and that's sweet, but … Well. I'm not nice,” Sophia offered a discarding little shrug. Then her expression became serious. “Stay away from Arthur.”

Merlin couldn't help a snort. “I'm trying to, believe me.”

“Please. I've seen how you look at him.”

“With disdain and exasperation?”

Sophia exhaled in a scoffing way. “Yes, that's what you want everyone to think, but I know better.”

“Sophia. You're welcome to Arthur. Take him. With my blessing,” Merlin said, trying to be pleasant. He was a guest here, after all.

“I don't need your blessing, Merlin. I'm trying to help you. If you'd just listen you'll save yourself a lot of hurt later.” Now Sophia was examining her nails.

“I'm not interested in--”

Sophia interrupted, “It's Arthur Pendragon. He's like cat-nip to men like you.”

“'Like me'?” Merlin said, slowed by the words, “Just what does that mean?” He faced her fully, brow drawn down.

Sophia tossed her curls. “Oh, did you think you were an original? You're the quintessential beta gay-boi, a hopeless twink who prays really hard that one day the handsome, strong, _straight m_ alpha of his delusional dreams will wake up and realize that all he's ever wanted was sad little beta prick,” Sophia wagged her pinky finger slightly. “ And besides. You really think Uther Pendragon would welcome a moralizing, self righteous, academic snob into his family? He's fighting to keep gays where they belong until such time as you go to hell for being perverse. Who do you think Arthur would chose, his father or you?”

There was little doubt who Sophia thought that was, as her disdainful once over proved.

There was something liberating about the exchange. Perhaps Merlin should be enraged by it, for the content was inflammatory enough. The truth was that the subtle stuff bothered him more. This attack of dislike was much easier for him to deal with. He didn't have to feel badly about writing Sophia off and completely ignoring her.

“Get out.” he said simply, firmly, but with enough darkness in it that Sophia complied. She threw one backwards glance as she went, but Merlin used his steeliest glare, and she closed the door behind her without further comment.

When Gwen got back Merlin was already in bed, doing his best not to think about the visit. He wasn't hurt, Sophia didn't have power enough for that, but some of her content was troubling. He'd been so sure he was hiding himself quite well. His only exchanges with Arthur were barbed, and Merlin made sure not to look at him any more or less than he did anyone else. Still, something nagged.

“Gwen?”

“Mm?”

“Am I self righteous?”

Gwen paused hanging up her robe and peered up at Merlin. “Where on Earth did you get that from, Merlin?”

“I'm kind of looking for a yes-or-no here,” Merlin said, propped on his side atop the pillows in the stupid bunk bed which only made him feel even more like an eight year old.

Gwen's look was equal measures concerned and thoughtful. “Well … you can be passionate and enthusiastic, but I suppose a person who didn't take the time to listen might think you were self righteous. They wouldn't hear how much you aspire to, how much you want the world to be a better place.”

Merlin flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “I sound like a _Star Trek_ episode,” he groaned.

“It's better than being _The Real Housewives of Bitchtopia_ ,” Gwen said. When Merlin glanced her way he saw her watching him steadily. They communicated wordlessly, with Gwen tilting her eyebrows subtly and cocking her head in Tell-me-you-know-you-want-to and Merlin answering with a faint meh-it's-nothing shoulder hitch. Gwen countered with the hand squeeze of all-right-I'll-be-here-when-you're-ready and Merlin gave the concluding I'm-emotionally-constipated-you'll-probably-need-to-wait-a-few-weeks nod and smile before they both retired.

 

 

ᴥ

July Fourth was glorious and bright, perfect weather promised by all forecasts. The household rose and packed the big picnic baskets with all the delicious things Gwen and Lance had cooked. They all loaded onto the boat, which Arthur proved to be a deft had at driving, though he refused to go until everyone put life jackets on. They looped around the lake several times before mooring the boat near town. There they tumbled out and joined the stream of people who'd come downtown for the revels.

The parade was a little local thing, with a slightly out of tune marching band tooting their way through patriotic songs. Local kids had done up their bikes, with a lot of streamers and Americana themes and walked alongside their creations beaming. There were a few home made floats, slightly rickety but enthusiastically built, advertising the local businesses which had funded their construction and bearing various persons. A Miss Silver Lake held the place of honor among her court of dainty omegas in dresses and sashes, waving elegantly at the crowd, all pretty and painted with big smiles. The mayor cruised by in a red Cadillac, scout groups marched by bearing flags with their troop numbers and so forth.

Elena was riding in the parade too. She was bareback on a white horse dyed to look like the flag (she gave them an extra wave and blew kisses at Gwaine) and bringing up the rear was a float with a young girl dressed as the Statue of Liberty.

When the parade broke up there was the little fair full of craft booths, food booths run by civic organizations and various fund-raising activities. There were a number of small stages assembled where school children recited poetry, dance troops boogied their way through patriotic tunes and local bands plied them with tunes to stroll by.

Purchases were made, dunk tank bean bags were slung, crafts admired, performance efforts clapped for, giant bubbles popped, small talk engaged in and the waterfight watched from a high hill. Actually, it was a wonderful time, everyone pleasant and enjoying themselves to the hilt. Merlin and Sophia were doing an excellent job ignoring each other.

After they'd been through the small fair once Arthur set up shop at the ring toss and set about winning everyone some of the knitted prizes of caps, scarves and gloves. At first this proclamation was met with amusement, but seeing as Arthur's first round of rings scored Sophia a long purple scarf disbelief was stoppered.

“Merlin, d'you fancy a nice hat?” Gwaine offered while Arthur twirled rings.

With Elena gone Gwaine was focused back on Merlin once more. Merlin found himself somewhat amused by the attentiveness. Not that he'd previously been ignored, but Gwaine had been splitting his time between him and Elena. Elena had engaged and encouraged. Merlin had not.

“Truly, my masculinity has need of pom-poms.” Merlin said, examining the selection of knitted head-wear.

Gwaine answered with a grin. It took him two sets of rings to Arthur's deft hand (who paused his own work to watch) but in the end Gwaine managed, and selected a deep blue cap with said pom poms.

“Give us a kiss, then.”Gwaine puckered up, holding the hat near.

Merlin laughed and swatted at him when Gwaine caught him around the waist and tried to land the kiss. “Off, you Irish lecher!”

“I've won you winter wear; it ought to be worth a quick cuddle.” Gwaine nuzzled his whiskers into Merlin's neck.

Merlin flushed. When he glanced up he realized how much of an audience they had. Lance was the only one who was pointedly not looking, but Freya, Arthur and Gwen were all agog. Sophia was smirking unpleasantly.

“Gonna finish?” The guy who ran the booth said to Arthur, distracting them. Arthur turned away and began hurling the rings and missing all the targets.

Merlin fended Gwaine off. “S'enough. Besides, aren't you after Elena, now?”

Gwaine's face went serious. He still had Merlin clasped close, wasn't at all concerned by the others. Gwaine reached up to stroke Merlin's cheek. “Say the word, Merlin, and I'll give the lady my regrets and hereafter be a faithful man.”

Merlin's heart swelled. He glanced at the group. They weren't watching, but he had a feeling their ears were primed.

“Let's go get a drink,” he blurted, pointing to a booth with lemonade and tugging at Gwaine's sleeve.

They put some space between them and the others, and got in line for lemonade.

Merlin had wanted to go to bed with Gwaine, he had. Only, things had changed. Gwaine was still highly attractive and desirable, even if the draw didn't hold a candle to what Merlin felt for Arthur physically. That ship had sailed.

Even though Merlin had absolutely no plans to proclaim everlasting love for Arthur there still seemed to be something somehow wrong about crawling into bed with Gwaine. Intellectually it made little to no sense; Merlin was a free agent, uncommitted, over the age of consent and therefore free to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. In fact, from a certain perspective, it could be said that having a tumble with flighty Gwaine would be a good move. Merlin could get his rocks off with someone who didn't want a solid commitment, even if some kind of monogamy seemed to be in the offering. There was every reason in the world to date Gwaine. Someone to watch late night movies with, to argue about petty domestic matters, someone to kiss on New Year, someone to come home to, to travel with, to talk to in minutes before the toast burned and after spilling coffee. Someone who would be there, but not ask too much.

Yet, for all that Merlin found he still couldn't. No. He didn't want to. Even if he managed to consummate it, the relationship would never be anything more than a placeholder, a substitution. Gwaine deserved better than that. More than to be another pile of rubble in the shambles of Merlin's romantic life.

They bought lemonades and found a cement bench to sit on. Gwaine set his aside almost at once and dug in his pockets for a cigarette. He lit it up, despite it being a no smoking zone.

“I thought you'd come back from the run with a mate,” Gwaine said at last, and despite his unflappable ease, Merlin thought he detected a note of awkwardness. “And instead you're still hiding from things, even things you shouldn't. But if it's not a mate you're yearning for, and not a bit of fun with me, I don't know what it is you're after, Merlin.”

Gwaine drew deep of the cigarette.

“Those are terrible for you.” Merlin found himself murmuring. Plus passing people were giving them dirty looks for the stream of acrid smelling smoke.

“Bugger the ciggies,” Gwaine said, grinding it out on the bench. Gwaine shifted close, his thumb coursing from Merlin's chin to his jaw. 

“You wanted me,” he said soft, close enough that his breath bounced along Merlin's mouth. “Even when you dashed out in a panic, it wasn't for lack of want. Not at first.” 

“I did want you.” Merlin agreed, looking up into the handsome face.

“You should have stayed. I'd have taken care of you.” Gwaine's thumb slid up and down along his jaw. “But you didn't trust that I'd do that. You don't even trust me now, do you?”

Now?  
Merlin swallowed.“I don't think it'd be a good idea.” Merlin reached up to catch Gwaine's hand and gently pull it down from his cheek. “I don't think I'd be good for you.” He gave Gwaine's hand a squeeze.

Gwaine pulled his hand away. “You could let a bloke decide that for himself.”

Merlin smiled. “Then you'd miss out on Elena.”

“She is bonny.” Gwaine picked up his lemonade and sipped.

“Do you mind that she isn't...?” Merlin made a weak gesture at the hip, not wanting to say the actual words, but honestly he didn't know. Gwaine was so often smiles and cheer it was hard to tell what he really thought.

“What, omega?” Gwaine shrugged and chuckled. “My mum would be scandalized, I suppose. But it's never mattered too much to me, though. I prefer spunk to biology; you and she have it in spades. I wouldn't like to think what I'd miss, not keeping my options open.”

Gwaine climbed off the bench and offered a hand to Merlin. Merlin took it, let Gwaine steady him on the uneven grass of the park. Then Gwaine ducked in quickly, and pressed his mouth over Merlin's unexpectedly. 

There was heat, there was, but he knew it was a valiant little spark which would come to nothing. Gwaine's mouth was tender as it slanted over his, something more gentle than ever he had shown when he kissed Merlin before. Those kisses that day in April had been greedy and spicy, not like this which was a little sad.

When they parted Gwaine smiled, rakish and charming. “Had to do that at least once more, while you're still a free man.”

They rejoined the others where they loitered with an assortment of knitted goods. Conversation was stilted for a few minutes as they wound their way through the crowds, but it lightened not long after.

They ate a resplendent lunch of fried chicken, cole slaw, fruit, potato salad and cornbread on a hilltop in the shade in view of the boat. Matters were lubricated with a shared pitcher of mojitos Gwen just created on the spot. When stuffed to bursting some laid down for a snooze whilst others headed to the water to work off their caloric intake, clothes left in bundles on the blankets.

Merlin remained onshore, not wanting his safe beta shield washed away. He lay on the blanket watching Gwaine and the others frolic in the water. The lake was crowded with people trying to seek reprieve from the weather in the lull between activities.

“So. You and Gwaine.” Arthur said, trying to sound smooth and failing at it fairly thoroughly. He too had elected to remain dry, instead sunning himself behind hideously expensive sunglasses. He'd worn them most of the day, probably convinced he was going to be recognized and mobbed.

“There is no Gwaine and I,” Merlin said.

“I'm not a bigot, Merlin, I don't mind homosexuals. In fact, I'm pro gay marriage.”

Really? Whatever would Uther say to that? Still, Merlin rolled his eyes. “And here I am without a cookie to give to you in praise of not holding narrow and hateful prejudices. Despite your ready approval, we still aren't a couple.”

Arthur went quiet and sipped his mojito.

“You kissed him,” Arthur said, altogether too casually.

“Correction, he kissed me,” Merlin said, though he couldn't muster up sufficient heat. The entire scene with Gwaine had been anything but private, being that they were in the middle of a fair.

“But you're not a couple?”  
“No.”

“Is it because he's alpha?” Arthur asked, sounding ready to defend his sexugender.

“It's because he's Gwaine.”

Merlin saw Arthur turn to look at him in his peripheral vision. Besides the big glasses, Arthur was wearing hideously expensive designer swimwear, and yet for some reason had pulled up a chair beside Merlin rather than dive in and prove himself a champion swimmer on top of everything else. Surely there were some stories of Arthur trying out for the Olympics Lance hadn't yet gotten around to regaling them with. The magnitude of his attributes and proficiencies was getting a little annoying.

“He is a bit of a whore.” Arthur tilted the glass this way and that.

Merlin shrugged, but didn't turn to look at him fully. He didn't look at Sophia giving them the hairy eyeball, either. Instead, he watched Freya bob around on a bright pink blow-up sea turtle, looking serene. “The born flirt doesn't bother me. He's a gypsy. I wouldn't like uprooting myself whenever his feet started to itch.”

Arthur made an agreeing kind of noise, which for some reason Merlin didn't expect. He imagined Arthur to be forever jetting to international parties, as the tabloids had once upon a time chronicled with such detail. He did turn to look then, a brow cocked in question. It was Arthur's turn to shrug.

“My father loves being on the campaign trail, every night in a different hotel. He took me with him some years. I didn't like it; not as a perpetual lifestyle.”

“I remember seeing you at his rallies,”Merlin murmured without thinking. He hastened to busy his mouth with his own drink.

“Mm. I don't imagine you're a supporter of his.”

Merlin snorted. “Not remotely.”

“I figured.”

“Are you?” Merlin slanted a look back at him.

Arthur tugged down his glasses and caught Merlin's eyes. “Yes, Merlin, we get along _so_ well already, why not add an inflammatory topic we're sure to disagree violently about to be sure we're fast and eternal friends?”

“We called a truce, we can't argue.” Merlin grinned despite himself. “Stop dodging.”

Arthur sighed and righted his sunglasses. “My father wants everyone to be well, cared for and have a place. Just...sometimes the methods he uses are not always the most sensitive and the places he wants to put people to be sure they are well and cared for is not where they want to be. He simply has ideas about the way the world should be.”

“Quality dodging,” Merlin commended.

Arthur chuckled and raised his glass in acknowledgment.

They watched the cluster of their friends, who had bobbed closer to the shore. Gwaine had distracted Sophia by hoisting her onto his shoulders and now the two of them were taunting Gwen and Lance until the latter pair capitulated. Lance ducked down and Gwen climbed onto his shoulders so both ladies were astride the gentlemen.

Merlin chuckled. “They'll regret that.”

“Who? Why?”

Merlin pointed at the two chicken fighting couples. “Gwaine and Sophia. Gwen is the Angel Foundations 2013 Jell-O Wrestling Champion.”

They watched Sophia grapple tentatively with Gwen, although this was much more lighthearted than the competition in the pit o' jello, with Gwaine trying to splash Lance in between gripping Sophia's legs to keep her balanced. Everyone was laughing, and though Gwaine was a firm support Gwen still sent Sophia toppling into the lake. She came up sputtering and moaning about her hair.

Arthur set his glass down to clap while Gwen and Lance hoisted their arms up and cheered victory.

“Well. Every victory deserves an award.” Arthur said, and stood, peeling his shirt off until he was bare chested and gorgeous … and still kind of a dick. But a gorgeous dick.

Merlin arched a brow. “You consider yourself an award?”

“No. I was thinking of giving them the gift of knowledge.”

“What does – AUGH.” Merlin had been pondering that when Arthur grabbed him into a fireman's hold, against all that warm golden skin ... and threw him in the lake.

 

They took the boat home. Merlin sat near the prow, let a stiff wind assault him until he was windblown, exuberant and a little chilled. This way there was no chance of him breaking out into a telltale sweat.

For the next hour showers were taken, hot water argued about. Merlin skipped the line by simply scrubbing his hair out in a sink which might not have been precisely couth, but it saved him having to fight for spray time. In the quiet of his bedroom he reapplied his beta hormones thoroughly. The bottle was getting low. If Gwen and Lance's undeniable attraction continued, then what? How long would he have to perpetuate a ruse he'd only intended to maintain for a few days? Worse, what if Lance integrated enough that he met other acquaintances, what if it came out just how new Merlin's beta scent was?

Merlin decided he wasn't going to worry about it until it became a reality.

He put on jeans and a cotton button down and called it an outfit. Nothing compared to Arthur's tailored linen trousers jacket in a cream color and the pale blue shirt, which Merlin thought made him look as if he were heading off to Havana. Or Sophia's flirty little dress and tall heels.

They bundled into two cars, and though Merlin was loathe to admit it, Arthur's scheduling got them there in time to nab some of the last few parking slots that didn't involve massive hikes. They strolled to the town square which bustled with people, balloons, children and even a few leashed dogs. Signs directed people to the town square for the ice cream social. In the gazebo a brass band was assembling itself, and the sound of laughter and boats came off the lake.

Freya and Gwen selected a patch of grass based on projecting the moving shadow of some trees. There they sprawled, until the tables finished their assembly and began serving ice cream.

In a group they joined the line, chatting. Arthur politely rebuffed a chatty alpha trying to jump the line by insinuating himself into their group with vibrant conversation.

Almost everyone returned to the blanket with obscene sundae creations, except Sophia who had a child's scoop of vanilla, protesting about her figure. They lolled, singing along with _Yankee-doodle-dandy_ and _America the Beautiful_ between mouthfuls of ice cream. As people finished eating the cement patio around the gazebo began to fill with couples dancing.

Lance rolled to his feet and adjusted his shirt then offered a hand to Gwen with a smile. “May I have this dance?”

Gwen desisted nibbling the remains of her waffle cone and allowed herself to be whisked onto the floor. They fell into step so easily. Merlin couldn't help but admire the ease of it, as he lay watching, arms wound under his chin.

“Merlin?” He was poked in the side. Merlin looked up to see Gwaine offering a hand, a twinkle in his eye that spoke of mischief. 

“I'm terrible at it,” Merlin warned.

“Nonsense, you're already light as a feather.”

Merlin capitulated, charmed by the smile. They might not be about to commence an epic love affair, but a dance? That wouldn't be so bad. He sat up and took Gwaine's hand and let himself be pulled off the blanket and onto the dance floor. 

The band was playing a slightly squeaky rendition of _Begin the Beguine_. Merlin and Gwaine joined the pool of dancers. They seemed to be the only apparently homosexual couple on the floor, though Merlin spied a few of the boys from the Miss Silver Lake court, changed from their gowns into flirty skirts and blouses, but still wearing their sashes and in the arms of tall young alphas. As once Gwaine took hold of Merlin's waist and began to sway him in time to the music a few curious noses were aimed their way.

He could see other couples comprised of two masculine figures, but considering the make up, the feminine cut of clothing and the heels they were more blatantly marked as omega. Merlin, in jeans and his short sleeved button down, was straddling some line. 

Merlin observed them observing him and Gwaine. He didn't detect any hostility; only he wondered if the community could possibly be so small and closed as to view a gay couple dancing as a novelty. Especially since he kept accidentally treading on Gwaine's feet, not being a terribly good dancer, as advertised.

Merlin squeaked and went rigid as Gwaine suddenly dipped him.

“What was that?” Merlin asked when Gwaine pulled him back up.

“If you'd been paying attention you'd have seen it coming,” Gwaine said merrily.

“I was!”

“You were miles,” Gwaine said and spun him out.

“Not a girl,” Merlin grumbled as he whirled back in.

“But you are . . . special.” Gwaine hovered before completing the sentence, capitulating to the dark look Merlin sent him in warning as he began it.

“Yes. Well.”

“Well?” Gwaine prompted.

“Well nothing.”

“It's a bit of a dance, Merlin. Can't harm anything, can it? I know you've already refused me.”

“ … No.” Merlin conceded. He didn't want to be one of those inflexible jerks whose beliefs formed an obstacle for all other people to negotiate with.

Gwaine's hands dipped low, shifting down to cup Merlin's bottom until Merlin elbowed him and restored the wandering hands to waist level.

“You need to loosen up,” Gwaine chuckled as they wove through the people. Actually, by this point people seemed to have gotten over the fact that someone had allowed gays in the township and one might have been trying to paw the other. Adults danced happily, weaving around the few children flailing in time to the music at the fringes of the dance floor within view of their parents.

Loosen up? Wasn't he loose enough? Unless Gwaine felt that one of them should drop down on his knees and start giving the other one head in front of all the old couples sedately swing dancing, Merlin wasn't sure how he could get looser.

“Being groped is not my idea of publicly acceptable behavior.”

“Bit tetchy. For the sake of equality, would you like to dip me, then?” Gwaine asked.

“No, thank you. I'm not sure I could get you upright again.”

“Ah, sure, you're stronger than you look. What about a wee spin, then?”

Merlin spun Gwaine around to oblige him, but found himself laughing despite himself at imagining the picture they made.

They resumed swaying, though Gwaine was having a hard time subduing a grin.

“What?” Merlin asked suspiciously after it had gone on for a bit.

“You ought to see the Princess staring,”

Merlin frowned. “Who?”

“Arthur.”

Merlin resisted craning his neck to see, but Gwaine managed some fancy footwork, making the turn into a natural flow so now Merlin faced the hill. He slowly let his gaze wander to the blanket.

The only people left on the blanket were Arthur and Sophia. Sophia was arranged very precisely, her body angled towards Arthur in an effort to look highly appealing.

Arthur was watching him and Gwaine with an intensity Merlin could feel, even at this distance.

Why? Merlin couldn't help but wonder. Arthur couldn't smell him, didn't even seem to like him most of the time. So, why? Why was he staring at Merlin and Gwaine as though he wanted to be jealous, but couldn't quite find the justification to be?

“I told him we weren't together, when he asked.” he said.

“Did you now? And how did the Princess like that?”

Merlin urged them to turn away until he was presenting his back to the hill again. “He was all ready to approve of our taboo homosexual love.”

“You're lucky I'm an omnisexual who pays no heed to labels.” Gwaine chuckled. “But he doesn't half keep an eye on you, Merlin. Is there something you'd like to be telling me?” Gwaine pulled back enough to give Merlin a probing look.

“No. There's nothing,” Merlin said, tugging Gwaine back close. “Let's just dance.”

The rest of the dance they swayed in silence, and Merlin did everything he could to be in this moment, rather than letting his mind wander to the people around them, or to the man behind him.

When the song shifted into something more sultry Gwaine lead them to the blanket. They passed Gwen and Lance still dancing, drawn even closer together and beaming at each other.

Merlin plopped back onto the blanket.

“Well. That seems to have stirred things up.” Arthur said.

“Eh, bit of excitement for them to have at the next town meeting is all. D'you want to dance, Princess? Two alphas, likely to cause even more staring. We could bump and grind to _God Bless America_ ,” Gwaine waggled his brows and scooted close to Arthur.

Arthur fended him off. “Don't call me that. And no, I don't want to give the elderly any strokes.”

“Pity that, I'm sure you're a right saucy dancer, I've wanted to get my hands on that tight bum of --”

“Arthur, you can dance with me,” Sophia interjected.

“Yeah. Okay. Sure.” Arthur sounded distracted. Still, Merlin watched him stir and then help Sophia to her feet and head off.

Arthur was a good dancer. Everything correctly placed, the kind of comfortable posture that came from years of dancing lessons. He moved Sophia with ease, clearly thrilling her. It was different than what Merlin had seen Arthur do at the Spring Run dance. Proper dancing rather than a lewd bump and grind. His hands never dipped below Sophia's waist.

Merlin didn't want to get caught watching, and so he pinned his eyes to the blanket until there was a rustle beside him. Freya sat with a fresh cup of ice cream. She wordlessly offered him a bite which Merlin declined.

“It's funny,” Freya said after a few moments.

“Hm?” Merlin hummed.

Freya smiled and said. “Arthur and I. Gwen and Lance. Ironic. The ones who the run wasn't for benefited the most.”

“You mean...?” Merlin waved a hand towards Lance and Gwen on their fourth song.

Freya nodded. “I think she's going to be very happy. Don't you?”

Well, as thrilled as he was with the turn of events Merlin didn't want to count his chickens before they hatched, the specter of Dr. Helios was not that distant. “I hope she will be. She deserves to be.” 

He added, “I just hope she's being, you know, careful.”

Freya blinked and then giggled at him, twirling her spoon through her ice cream.

“What?”

“Oh Merlin, one thing love rarely is, is careful.”

There was dancing and laughing to the rich music, and more ice cream. Merlin danced with Gwaine, Gwen, Freya and Elena, but spent most of the time on the blanket, though he was wheedled back for the bunny hop, sandwiched between Elena and Freya. Freya was much in demand with various people who all seem to have known her since childhood. They stopped by the blanket to greet her, see how she was, and ask for updates on her grandmother. It usually ended with Arthur, Gwaine or Sophia being asked for a turn on the dance floor by the acquaintances, or children of, since Lance and Gwen seldom left each others arms and Merlin was sure his previous display had frightened everyone off at the risk of their feet. It was all right with him. He liked watching.

When darkness dropped and thousands of strands of fairy lights and Chinese lanterns glowed from trees, they repaired to the boat for an unfettered view of the the fireworks. Gwen and Lance sat on the bow, the rest on the seats, Merlin and Freya sharing a blanket. While the marching band played _Stars and Stripes Forever_ behind them somewhat synchronized fireworks popped and lit up the sky overhead.

By the bright light of the show's climax, sky thundering, music thrumming, stars envious of the multi-chormatic display Merlin saw Lance lean in and kiss Gwen, sweet and gentle. 

 

ᴥ

The dining room table was the scene for the final game in their little championship. They were having a Cards Against Humanity-off, the established teams held strong, with the MEGG alliance hoping to gain more total cards than the LAFS. They were tied, Pictionary and Charades to MEGG, Twister and Monopoly to LAFS.

Scrutinizing their cards and eyeballing each other furtively, the game commenced. Explaining the rules had not taken long, and all parties caught on quickly enough; each player drew ten white answer cards to keep to themselves. For each round one player would become the Card Czar and draw a black card with a question on it. After reading the question aloud the remaining players would submit their answers in an anonymous pile, which the Card Czar would then read aloud and select their favorite from. Their chosen favorite would get the black card, and having the most black cards at the end was the goal.

Though Arthur was offered to go first by a benevolent Gwaine, Arthur deferred. Rather than relinquishing the opportunity to start as some altruistic move, Merlin suspected it had more to do with observing game play. Arthur, he had discovered, did like to form small battle plans.

Sophia went first, then clockwise around the table from there; Freya, Elena, Gwaine, Merlin, Gwen, Lance and Arthur last. They played twice around the table for a total of sixteen turns to a flow of riotous laughter, aided by a second pitcher of mojitos Gwen had whipped up and plentiful sugar from all the ingested ice cream.

Merlin was winning with five cards; He'd won both Gwen's rounds, one from Freya, one from Gwaine and one from Lance. Granted, the Gwaine one was a gimmie; it depended on whose card had the filthiest sexual suggestion on it, which meant Freya had his other card for playing 'panty raids'. Surprisingly Lance was in second place with three cards, both of Arthur's and one Sophia, who had thus far scored no cards and would not stop fussing about it.

It left the score 9/7 in favor of MEGG.

Final round was declared, with a mini rock-paper scissor marathon decreed to decide a wildcard for the final turn in case of a tie.

For round three everyone doubled down. Sophia was Card Czar first, but her sense of taste left everyone except Freya a little baffled. 10/7, favor of MEGG. Freya herself, however, gave her card to Lance, 10/8.

Elena kept MEGG in the lead, but Gwaine and Merlin both gave points to Arthur, bringing the score to 11/10, still in favor of MEGG. Barely.

Arthur started to look smug when Lance's round brought them to 11/12, LAFS in the lead. Clearly he could taste victory, and it was his turn.

He drew a black card and read “For my next trick I will pull ____ out of ___.”

And the clouds in the heavens began to sing in cherubic chorus, for Merlin had pulled on his last round 'Excalibur'.

He already held 'from the moist, demanding chasm of zes mouth'.

He couldn't _not_.

Not when it was sitting there, mocking him.

It was too perfect. It would win them back their lost point.

True, Gwen might have an aneurysm, but it was a risk Merlin was willing to take. He slid his cards in with the group. When there were seven options waiting for him Arthur began his selection.

“For my next trick I will pull 'boogers' out of 'Judge Judy'. Someone here needs a different hobby.” Arthur read.

“For my next trick I will pull 'Nubile slave boys' out of 'Pac-Man uncontrollably guzzling cum'. Was this you, Gwaine? This was you. How do you keep managing to pull cards with the foulest sexual suggestions on them?”

“I think a better question would be why he keeps selecting them at his turn.” Gwen chortled.

“For the record, I've not actually had my arsehole bleached.” Gwaine said lazily. “It's you yanks thought that nonsense up.”

“America. Proud creators of the TV dinner, the Kardashians and arsehole bleaching,” Elena toasted Gwaine. “Makes me a proud patriot.”

“Somewhere horrible those three things combine in unspeakable ways...” Merlin said with a shake of the head.

Arthur snapped his fingers at them. “Focus, would you? For my next trick I will pull 'a really cool hat' out of 'the terrorists'.”

“For my next trick I will pull 'my first kill' out of 'disco fever'.”

“For my next trick I will pull 'hipsters' out of 'multiple stab wounds'. This would win if the hipsters had the multiple stab wounds, bad luck.” Arthur waggled the cards.

“For my next trick I will pull...oh, lovely. I will pull 'hot cheese' out of 'pictures of boobs'.”

Arthur picked up the last set of cards and let out a snort of laughter before composing himself. “And we have a winner. For my next trick I will pull 'Excalibur' out of 'the moist demanding chasm of zes mouth'.”

There was a burst of laughter as two and two was put together.

“Whose was it?” Arthur eyed the group.

Merlin tried not to grin too cheekily and raised his hand. This sent the table into new gales of laughter, except Gwen who had chosen that minute to sip her wine and sprayed a good half of it on the table in shock, which commenced new hilarity and much blushing and horror on Gwen's part.

When recovered, the score was surveyed. A tie.

“All right,” Arthur commanded. “Let's finish this, rock paper scissors time. Everyone match up. Just, use the person next to you? Ready? One, two, three.” Like a good traffic cop he led them all through. Actually, he'd done that a lot the past few days, keeping everyone on task. Grudgingly Merlin had to admit Arthur was efficient.

Then Merlin thought dark thoughts about the Irony Gods when he beat Elena with paper to her rock, and then Sophia with scissors and Lance with paper. He was going to be the tiebreaker, great, tension he did not need.

He sank into his chair and pulled a black card.

“What's my secret power?” he read out.

Everyone went to work, shuffling around their cards, snickering to themselves until Merlin held seven options, and the opportunity to either win or lose for his team. No pressure or anything. The guilt of throwing the point to Arthur to avoid entwined Twister had come to bite him in the ass.

He read through the results.

“What is my secret power? 'Nicholas Cage'. Actually, I think his wigs are his super power. 'Estrogen'. Cute. 'A' oh fuck... 'a sweating, panting leather daddy'. Yeah, no, Gwaine.”

Gwaine held his hands up. “Not mine, mate.” His grin gave him away though.

“ What is my secret power? 'Fabricating statistics'” he paused to grin here and waved the card. “I promise, I didn't have to. I have the audio files to back me up.”

Merlin continued.“'All-you-can-eat shrimp for $4.99','scrubbing under the folds'? I don't quite know—you know what? I don't want to. And, last one, what is my secret power? 'a motherfucking sorcerer'.”

Oh. Well. If the Irony Gods were going to be like that.

He held up the sorcerer card. “How can I not?” He asked. “Motherfucking sorcerer indeed.”

Gwen laughed. “Mine! Mine! We win!”

MEGG cheered all around. Merlin laughed, relieved (enormously so) that the card had come from Gwen. Somehow, it seemed as if it should have come from another source. From the man who, thematically, should be feeding Excalibur into the mouth of his motherfucking sorcerer.

He was letting his imagination get away from him.

Merlin darted a swift glance at Arthur while the money from the pot was divvied out. He wasn't a sore loser, at least.

He was staring at Merlin's mouth, though.

 

ᴥ

_Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers; The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

_Subject: Arnold J. Rimmer_

_Sexugender./Physiogender: Betamale_

_Orientation: Heterosexual_

_Marital Status: Single, Unbonded_

_Well, some of us weren't born with an enormous hanging alpha todger, were we? No, haven't got the right nobby parents, no alpha teeth, no oversized, over sexed genitals swaying in the breeze perfuming the air with the scent of Doritos and Axe body spray, and no ridiculous macho strutting, so, what happens to you? Best of luck, they bung you in with the rest of the useless waste where you'll be at the bottom of the pile your whole life. No chance of promotion. Oh, they say they're working on equal rights, but do you notice at the officer's tables? More fangs than a Transylvanian vampire convention, except the omegas they hired so there's be someone to sit on the copier machine at the Christmas 'do._

_Suppressants just even the playing field, make it so they cant's stiff you. I guarantee you, this time when I submit my discourse on porous circuitry, they'll bother to read the smegging thing instead of sending it straight to the bin for insufficient masculine plumbing._

ᴥ

Merlin set his alarm on his phone to rise early. He still didn't beat Gwen up, and when he went downstairs he found her at the kitchen table sipping coffee with Lance, Arthur and Sophia.

“Good Morning!” she called. “There's coffee.”

“Thanks, Gwen. Morning,” he greeted the others and got little waves in return.

He poured himself a steaming cup. “Actually, I think I'm going to pack and head back to town.”

Gwen and Lance chorused disappointed sounds.

“Are you sure?” Gwen said.

“Yes. Have some things to do.” Merlin saluted with his cup and departed the kitchen and up the stairs. He could hear Gwaine snoring in his bedroom on the way by. Considering how much he'd had to drink, this was less than surprising.

The door to the room Arthur and Lance shared, though, was ajar.

Merlin lingered outside it, holding his steaming cup.

It wasn't that he was a snoop. He wasn't. Just … there was little to no chance he'd be seeing Arthur much after this. Which was for the best, really.

However.

Merlin glanced down the hall, listening for a footstep on the stair. When he heard nothing he stole through the crack in the door.

The guest bedroom was neither pointedly tidy nor especially untidy. Clothing and other items were strewn over the chairs and the dresser. One bed was made, the other a rumpled mess.

Merlin was firm he was not going to sniff the unmade bed, but, in a fit of insanity he snatched a worn and soft sweatshirt from where it had been haphazardly dropped. Merlin had seen Arthur pull it on at night when it got a bit chilly. This he did draw to his face, and inhaled the rich smell of Arthur which clung to it.

“This is so fucked up.” he whispered, and being a social scientist, he should – and did – know about levels of fuckery.

It didn't prevent him from hiding the sweatshirt in his suitcase and taking it home with him though.

ᴥ

Merlin's first FMRI was soon after meeting Dr. Kilgarrah. Along with the battery of other tests, he'd laid in the Magnetic Resonance Imaging machine and let his brain be scanned while Kilgarrah asked questions. Merlin had been prepared for claustrophobia and anxiety, but he turned out not to be overmuch troubled by either the small space or the noise. Merlin had been around MRI machines long enough to know what an MRI was and how it worked, so the source of the noise wasn't a threatening mystery.

Now it was time for a second, though this one had to wait until Merlin was in the midst of his August heat. The weather had turned sticky, and Merlin had an entire week to be slightly irritable and irrationally horny to enjoy. At least the culofactozine kept him timely, as opposed to his younger years when his heats were erratic. He'd also never been quite so grateful than he had been this year that his first heat of the calendar year was in the former parts of April, rather than closer to Beltane. The December one was always the most stressful, but August was the more uncomfortable.

Aithusa was there for this second FMRI, a small table fan aimed at the machine and the stack of plastic bags with big numbers on them on a near table. She had on her pristine white lab coat, latex gloves on and was chewing gum while she waited. Over summer she'd shaved part of her head and dyed it with jaguar spots.

Merlin climbed onto the table Aithusa situated his head into position with gentle presses of her fingers. When he was exactly where she wanted him she brought over the headphones, and together they placed them. He shifted to get comfortable and then she placed the cage over his face, popping into the slots. She gave a questioning thumbs up which Merlin mimicked, affirming he was well.

Once Merlin had the squeeze ball to warn them if they needed to stop she turned and signaled to Kilgarrah through the observation glass into the office.

Merlin lay and tried not to think about what was going on, tried not to anticipate as the table drew him into the FMRI machine. Soon after Kilgarrah's voice came over the headset alerting him as they began with the structural scan. The machine was indeed loud, issuing a tenor grinding sound as it circled Merlin. If he had been alarmed by it Merlin would have had no one but himself to blame. He'd concocted this particular experiment on the drive home from Silver Lake, as he had provided the primary test item.

Gwen's smell came first, wafted in on the waves of the table fan which had been turned on. Her perfume which reminded Merlin of berries, little slips of clinic disinfectant and a warm hominess on the wafting air of the fan. He inhaled her for about ten seconds, and then the smell was stoppered. He air cleared. A new smell was introduced.

In slow succession came a number of alpha scents, some in rut, some not, most unfamiliar, but also a few Merlin knew. Gwaine's was included, though sadly his scent now did little for Merlin now, which was an awful pity.

Arthur's scent came on the fan somewhere in the middle. The spicy Arthur smell that was familiar and promising and good. He missed it, when it wasn't there. Granted, he'd stolen the sweater like a panting creeper a few weeks ago, but it was minor in comparison to smelling Arthur around the lake house. In that brief week Merlin had grown accustomed to existing with Arthur's smell around him all the time. He hadn't even known it until he'd gotten back to his own apartment and resumed his life. He'd bagged the sweater to preserve the smell, disallowing himself the relief of opening it, for whatever madness his body conspired to, his mind was firm.

He curled his hands. His body yearned for the scent, unlike anything else. Low grade arousal which was par for the course for heat blossomed into something hot and greedy. His prick swelled in anticipation. He wanted to shield his hands over it to hide the evidence, he wanted the smell to stop, wanted it to never go away wanted-- and then it died. The rattle of plastic signaled the sweatshirt being sealed airtight once more.

Pulling his thoughts away from Arthur with vigor and ignoring his physical situation he worked hard to inhale and be attentive for the remainder of the sample smells. When the table at last slid out Aithusa took the bulb from him and liberated his head. She quirked a brow and signed _how are you?_ It was among some of the rudimentary signs Merlin had picked up from a few internet videos over the last few weeks. This time though, she didn't look snarky, but more professional than he'd seen her thus far. Merlin gave her a thumbs up and hopped off the table.

He passed by the table full of borrowed (and stolen) coats and shirts, but didn't stop for further sniffing of the test stimuli. Didn't look at bag number 7 and the sweatshirt.

He left Aithusa behind and went into the adjoining office, where the older doctor sat in an ergonomic chair. Merlin grabbed a rolling stool and slid to the desk with several computer monitors up. Kilgarrah's eyes were keen as he looked at the images of brains.

“Fascinating...” Kilgarrah said.

“What have you got, Mr. Spock?” Merlin pulled a rolling stool over and joined Kilgarrah and examined the screens. Though he had seen plenty of such scans before it was strange seeing his own gray matter reflected back at him. His own mind laid out for the observing. Sometimes it amazed him that all a human was, really, was electrical impulses across a squadgy bit of flesh.

After an initial baseline scan there was a brain scan for each smell introduced to Merlin in the tube. Beside the keyboard was a paper list jotting the correlating names to the numbers.

“Here.” Dr. Kilgarrah pointed to one of the brains. Merlin's stomach clenched. Number eight. “You see? This is the point where you were introduced the smell of your alpha. Compare it to the previous scent.”

Merlin looked between the two. Scan number seven correlated to smell number six, that of a strange femalpha. All of the smells which had belonged to strangers showed activity almost solely in the limbic system of the brain. This made sense, considering the limbic system's involvement in translating sensory data; the smell identified, and appropriate behavior for the smell formulated. All very basic.

Gwaine's, Gwen's and Arthur's were the three familiar smells in the mix of twenty scents, and it was the scans of his brain while inhaling their scent which showed other processes. Gwaine and Gwen's solicited almost the same patterns; activity in the areas of the brain associated with social contacts.

His brain on Arthur, however, was another matter entirely.

“The Ventral tegmental sections of the brain come into play, as does the caudate nucleus.” Kilgarrah indicated to the sections of the brain as he named them, now highlighted with color to show the increased activity in those areas while he was smelling Arthur.

“Dopamine central.” Merlin rubbed his face and sighed.What the brain did for dopamine, that wonderful chemical neurotransmitter which factored so highly in reward systems. His erection had not yet desisted.

“Now Merlin, don't be jaded. The caudate nucleus is also the seat of romantic love, in addition to various memory and learning functions.” Kilgarrah zoomed in on one of the scans of Merlin's brain. Surely enough, the 'passion network' had lit up when introducing Arthur's smell; anterial insula, superior temporal gyrus, occipito cortex, occipito-temporal cortex, angular gyrus, pecentral gyrus, anterior cingulate, thalamus, fusiform cortex, as well as the ventral tegmental and the caudate nucleus. All sections of the brain which were vital in the process of attraction, to the stages of young love when your brain was flooded with chemicals which made it feel good to be near the object of your affection.

Not that it should have been a surprise. Arthur revved Merlin's motor like nothing else. He was sexually attracted to him, Merlin wasn't going to deny that. Merlin's blood tests after returning from Silver Lake had showed high levels of serotonin, dopamine and norepinephrine, common for those in the throes of new love.

Kilgarra circled one area with a finger. “ But this is far more interesting; here, the globus palladus, thalamus, the substantia nigra, the Raphe nucleus. These areas of the brain are usually signs of a long term romantic love, not early stage attachment.”

Merlin stood and paced. “This doesn't make any sense. I'm not in love with him! I mean, lust, maybe, but love? Absolutely not. There's no way that this can be true.” He stabbed a hand at his brainscan, showing neural evidence of two states of affection attachment that really shouldn't exist at the same time.

“Speaking as neuroscientist, there isn't much difference between hate and love. Oxytocin can amplify either emotion.” Kilgarrah said, scrolling through the images. “Though I wonder if you're inferring the results are somehow fraudulent?”

“No, I just-- eight days and I'm showing long term neurological attachment bonds? What does this mean? It takes years in a committed relationship before most people reflect this kind of neural activity. Why are we seeing something indicative of a long term romantic liaison, rather than mere sexual arousal, which would make sense? Assuming this is what my brain looked like directly after meeting him, allowing no time for more usual bonding processes, this would mean my brain was forming attachments to him before we met.” Merlin spoke quickly, discomforted in the extreme. “That should be impossible.”

“This appears to provide some support of just that,” Kilgarrah said softly.

“I refuse to believe that the mild oxytocin levels that rose during — during adolescent self stimulation could have affected me. If that was the case every Victoria Secret model would have hundreds of sixteen year olds trailing after them with legitimate claims. That just doesn't happen, there has to be proximity!” Merlin protested.

Kilgarrah tapped a fingernail on the mouse and then leaned back, his chair creaking. “A most fascinating question. And perhaps that is what Psyche's Syndrome truly is? A pre-bond?”  
Merlin groaned. “You're verging into the destiny territory again. You can't bond to anyone without oxyarmonin, without sex at least and certainly without physical presence.”

“Young Scientist. Your brain believes you are bonded to your alpha.”

Merlin jerked to his feet. He paced the length of the office, anger surging.

His brain felt he belonged with Arthur Pendragon. His body longed for Arthur Pendragon.

Didn't anyone give a fuck about his heart?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure about part 4, I'm still working on it. Meager update announcements or info on my LJ, I guess? Sorry!


	4. 4. You Know You're Better Than This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya guys! No, it isn't dropped, no I have no plans on abandoning this. So, here's part four!
> 
> As ever, enormous, obliged, thankful I'm-unworthy groveling to Stray_the_Grey and Kestralsparhawk for their invaluable beta skills. Without them, we should all be lost. They have been tireless in helping me with my SPaG, and the many weak points this chapter needed fixing against. And that cheerleading we all need.
> 
> Credit to KestralSparhawk for coming up with the a/b/o laws for the Jewish faith, since I was clueless. The concepts are her invention, I just re-wrote it into Merlin's voice. Thanks Kes!

Heart in a Headlock  
Chapter Four: You Know You're Better Than This

 

Merlin was totally inconsiderate about answering email.

  
It wasn't that Arthur meant to tag it so that he was alerted when the email was read, it was just a habit. He needed to know when people saw things, make sure his communications network was operating at optimum. So, when Merlin opened the first email within five minutes of it being sent and then didn't respond for a week, it kind of irked Arthur. Didn't the beta know anything about being prompt? It wasn't as if Arthur hadn't given him something to respond to. He'd spent two hours composing it to be the perfect ratio of goading to potential conversational material. There was no reason it should have taken Merlin a week to bang out his response.

  
Granted, when it came it was full of insolence and argument, and that was nice.

  
Still, Merlin was a professor. The calls on his time couldn't possibly be what they were for Arthur, who was a junior vice president and was in charge of the global government relations for Allied Draconem Corporation. Merlin certainly had more time to write emails than Arthur did, so the fact that he lingered about it rather than be prompt irritated Arthur. Hello, Arthur Pendragon? Personally emailing him? Merlin couldn't possibly be as socially feeble as to be ignorant of the particular distinction he was being offered emailing with such an esteemed personage, even if he was also fussy about it.

  
It never took Merlin as long as a week to respond after that first email (and that was certainly not because Arthur would email him again if he hadn't heard anything in three days) and it was pleasant. Arguing with Merlin digitally was perhaps not as rewarding as doing it in person, since there was a decided lack of gaping fish expressions, but it tided Arthur over.  
Actually, if Arthur were honest with himself, those stupid emails were often the height of his day. They were funny, and narrowly avoided being belligerent by virtue of Merlin's sly humor and his general earnestness regarding particular topics. Anything to keep Arthur's brain busy until next year. Merlin was an excellent distraction. His petulant huffings and snotty academic retorts never failed to entertain, to take Arthur's mind off of the long hours at work, to relieve the helpless sense of just waiting until next Spring Run for his chance to find his omega and start his life. The contents of the emails and the links sometimes contained therein also made him think, which was casting the occasional small skirmishes he had with his father over upcoming campaign appearances and endorsements in a different light.

  
Arthur could blame Merlin for that. A few years ago he'd have probably thrown some money at most of the things his father urged him to, and made appearances where asked. He'd always done it, had done since he was a baby and too small, chubby, blond and photogenic not to be used to curry public favor. Or to give consent about participating in campaigning.

  
He'd spent every Thanksgiving he could remember at homeless shelters handing out turkey and potatoes while smiling for the cameras. It was a staple of his father's public relations; over forty years of devoted 'service' to the homeless. There was a picture of Arthur helping out every year from about age eight, excluding the year he had chicken pox, and honestly, it was 23 pictures too many of Arthur in a hairnet.

  
For the past few years Arthur had been developing a worrisome kinship with the jellied cranberry sauce congealed into the shape of the tin.

  
But he hated seeing that sternly disappointed look on his father's face when he refused him. Or when Uther sensed Arthur disagreed with his newest cause, and, really, when you got down to it, what was a little tax-deductible money in exchange for familial tranquility? If there were also anonymous donations of a comparable amount to the opposition of some of the more… controversial issues, well then, Arthur made sure no one else knew who donated it.

  
But, his father had no one else to depend on, since his foster sister ran off. Her defection had wounded his father gravely, the loss of someone his father was starting to look on as a daughter biting at the heels of Ygraine's death. Not that Arthur didn't understand. Merlin liked to kid him about his apparently hilarious tolerance for homosexuals, but whenever he saw Anna smoldering out of magazines with that hideous, fake looking tube sock stashed down her panties or kissing another omega, he did understand it. It must have been hard for her, living with Uther who never made bones about his disapproval. Yet, her inability to compromise meant Arthur was the only one left for his father to rely on. He couldn't disappoint him.

  
Now, though? Merlin, with his stupid impassioned speeches and his ridiculous capacity to throw out statistics on the spot, had a way of changing his mind. Arthur honestly hadn't known that people were paying such close attention to his charitable donations to notice that he appeared to approve of and side with Uther. He didn't. He didn't want some stupid omega registry. As easy as it would make his life at the current moment, it limited freedom. It was an infringement of privacy.

  
It was a bit too close to the X-men movies, honestly.

  
Not that Arthur had watched those.

  
The point was, he didn't want an omega registry, he didn't want laws forcing people not to take the stupid suppressants Merlin was always on about. He just wanted family peace.

  
And stupid Merlin made him think about all these things, apparently bound and determined to give Arthur perspective.  
Arthur occasionally longed to throttle him. Usually all those imagined scenarios ended in him pinning a querulous and bitching Merlin down to a handy piece of furniture and scenting him properly, marking him as pack … and maybe sometimes rubbing one off so Arthur spattered pearly come all over Merlin's glistening aquarichor-covered back, which would be lovely and pale and sleek. It was all very artistic and it was still all right, malphas did that sometimes with especially prized pack members, even if they were insubordinate betas.

  
Maybe he'd also been masturbating to that fantasy, but that was between Arthur and his god. He was pretty sure the tension he was under in the love-life department excused him from a little harmless fantasizing.

  
It was a compliment, really, when you thought about it. Arthur only wanted the best for his pack. He wanted Merlin's sharp mind, quick wit, his goofy smiles, his sense of righteousness and his conviction to standing up for his beliefs.

  
Enough about Merlin.

  
The sun had long since set, plunging Arthur's office into semi-dim. He'd had some last minute things to take care of which kept him later than he had intended. Arthur adhered to his own strict rules about personal business at work. It was only after everything had been done that he allowed himself to attend private matters.

  
Methodically he checked the email account he used for his mating business, looking for notifications of responses on any of the forums or websites he'd posted on. There was only one, but it was another smutty offer from an unrelated stranger. Arthur deleted it.

  
He was rubbing his brow when Leon preceded poking his head through Arthur's office door with a casual knock.

  
“Don't you have dinner plans tonight?” Leon checked his watch.

  
“Yes,” Arthur said and snapped his laptop shut.

  
“Where's George?” Leon said, nodding to the empty desk where Arthur's hyper competent secretary and personal assistant sat.

  
“I sent him home. He was hovering.” Arthur began collecting his things.

  
“I believe that's why you hired him,” Leon said, smiling.

  
“I can just about bear it during business hours. After that,-- it gets annoying.”

  
Leon waited so they could walk through the empty offices to the bank of elevators together, discussing how the new health care regulations were going to alter business and then entered the elevator that arrived. There they lapsed into quiet. Arthur stared at the electronic readout of the floors descending. He didn't mean to stand in surly silence, but in all honesty his situation was beginning to frustrate him. All the inaction got on his nerves, as he was accustomed to making things happen when things did not happen. Only these not-happening things could not be made to happen, and so he was still stuck at square one and inaction.

  
Well. Maybe he had briefly considered going door to door across the nation and sniffing everyone inside, but that wasn't actually feasible. And his father would balk at the bad press. TMZ would cream themselves.

  
“I take it you've not heard anything?” Leon ventured at last.

  
“No,” Arthur said. He didn't really want to discuss it, and tried to press that into his tones.

  
Leon waited a moment before continuing. “Lance's lady-friend, Gwen, will be up this weekend.”

  
“I know.” He did know. He and Merlin kept careful tabs on which weekend was where, and gave each other heads up for apparent events, like firsts or month anniversaries or whatever rubbish Lance and Gwen got up to.

  
“It seems she's planning on chaperoning one of her friends at Spring Run again next year. Lance volunteered to take my turn so they could chaperone together.”

  
While it was a bid to spend some time with Gwen, Arthur found he wasn't as troubled as he felt he should be about the upset to the order. Actually, the deep instinctive alpha part of him derived a faint satisfaction with the notion of his pack being fruitful. That less socially acceptable part of his malpha identity was flooded with strength and confidence at the idea of the pack as a whole breeding their chosen mates under the Beltane moon. Unabashed, together and united.

  
Well. Just Lance. Mithian, Leon and Percival wouldn't be there. That was a pity, really. Arthur liked the idea of meeting his omega with his pack flanking him, proving his worth. That would impress a young omega, so impressionable and new. Last year had to have been the first year ze was eligible for Spring Run, otherwise why hadn't Arthur found zer yet? Which meant ze was what, nineteen? Young, but that was all right. Maybe not having his pack there was better, it would never do to overwhelm zer. Still. Nineteen. It made Arthur feel old in unguarded moments, when he'd set aside his excitement about finally finding a mate. Sure, malphas were supposed to want hot young things, but what the hell was he going to talk to zer about?

  
“That's fine,” Arthur said when he realized his thoughts had delayed his response. “However you work it out. Whatever works for you and Lance.”

  
He drove back to his penthouse trying not to think about the topic of mating any more, which took a conscious effort. Arthur strictly set his mind to ruminate on an upcoming board meeting. When he got home he showered, threw himself into a suit and headed off to the restaurant. He ended up being a little early, but that was better than late. He was seated at a cozy table. He ordered a scotch and checked his phone while he waited for Mithian to arrive.

  
At some point in the intervening hour or so Merlin had deigned to write him back, and Arthur smirked his way through the email, finally pulling away from his phone when Mithian was seated opposite him and was handed a menu. This was one of their favorite places to dine. Quiet, good food, refined atmosphere, and the clientele was such that no one blinked an eye that a theater star was in their midst.

  
“Sorry,” Mithian said, tossing back her hair. “Haven't been waiting long, I hope?”

  
Arthur shook his head and she sent the waiter off with a request for white wine.

  
“You look beautiful,” Arthur said.

  
Mithian only smiled, as if it was to be expected that she be beautiful and Arthur would compliment her on it.

  
They sipped their drinks while perusing the menu and chatting. Arthur heard about the movie Mithian was considering taking a part in, and after ordering their dinner he told her about the most recent disaster at work.

  
“Oh dear,” Mithian said halfway through the meal, frowning across the room. “We've been spotted. This'll be all over town by tomorrow. How tiresome.” She gave a sigh.

  
Arthur tilted to get a look, and indeed saw one of the gossip matrons watching them closely.

  
“It doesn't matter,” he said and turned back to his filet mignon.

  
“You'd think they'd have gotten tired of speculating about our nuptials,” Mithian said, plucking up her refilled glass of wine.

  
“As they still haven't tired of using 'The Merry Widow's Widow' in press releases about you, I shouldn't think they will any time soon,” Arthur said.

  
“But it must be so tiresome for you, people thinking we're together when we're not.”

  
Arthur shrugged and forked up some more steak.

  
Mithian's eyes flicked back and forth between him and her plate for a minute before she spoke, but with a kind of caution Arthur hadn't heard in years. “Though, well, Arthur, would you mind if I was absolutely indelicate for a moment?”

  
Arthur cocked a brow at her. “I can't imagine you being so.” And so he couldn't. People imagined that the sweet, lady-like demeanor Mithian exuded was a public image, but, really? She was as sweet and demure as her press made her out to be and her co-workers praised her as. Arthur had never actually heard her use a curse word, and he'd been present when she fell off the stage during a slightly rickety production off-off-off-Broadway.

  
“Oh, I can be, the same as everyone else.” Mithian took a breath, and then dropped her tone to a conspiratorial level. “It's only … I know you have plans for this spring. That is, I know you intend to be mated, and that really is marvelous, Arthur, truly. I wish you every happiness, and I'm so excited to meet zer, after so long.”

  
“What are you getting at, Mithian?” Arthur set his fork down, devoting his full attention to his dinner companion.

  
Mithian fiddled with the stem of her wineglass. “I want every happiness for you, Arthur, but, I know how unfair life can be. James and I only got two years, we had our lives all planned out and it was going to be wonderful. Theater and then only the movies that were interesting and challenging, children, matching Tonys and Oscars.” Mithian smiled at the memory, bittersweet.

  
Arthur was terrible at comforting people, so he just watched her stare at her glass in a far off way until she came back to herself with a start.

  
“Sorry.” She shifted herself from the grip of the memories. “I can still do most of it, theater, movies, awards. Except the children part.”

  
Arthur stilled a little. “Mithian--”

  
Mithian hastened to speak. “I was going to bring it up if you were unsuccessful at the Run this year, and then you came back bursting with news and I didn't want to spoil it. But life can be so unfair, Arthur, so brutally unfair and no matter what happens, I want you to know you might have options.”

  
“You're suggesting, what? We get married? Children?” Arthur said, feeling a little discomforted even in the face of his long friendship to Mithian. They'd never been romantic, despite what their fathers wanted. When he and Mithian went through puberty and she gendered femega, and he a malpha, the perfect match, their parents almost threw the engagement party right there at then. There'd been celebratory drinks, at least, thought they were more self congratulatory of a presumed future planned. Arthur knew his father had known his eventual gender since he was very young, having the hospital do the necessary checks and he'd have been very surprised if Rodor hadn't done the same for Mithian.

  
However, despite what their parents planned, they were just friends, and had only ever been friends. Even that summer when Mithian was sixteen and Arthur eighteen and her heat came on early while they were out on the Pendragon yacht. While randy, it had never occurred to him he should slake his lust on Mithian. Instead, he sailed home with an unrelenting and obdurate boner while Mithian whimpered in the cabin and Arthur kept his eyes averted at all times. Mithian was pack, certainly, but she wasn't his in that obscure but definite way Arthur felt his mate should have been.

  
Not like that smell. Not like zer, the momega all over that towel.

  
“I'm not trying to steal you Arthur, calm down. I'm just offering an alternative. The truth is, I'm not going to love someone like I loved James. I don't want to. But life has other things to offer, and you and I would make a good team. We're friends, we know how to deal with each other's lives, and we wouldn't expect an epic love. That's a lot more than some people have in beginning a partnership.” Mithian countered.

  
Arthur eyed her over the table.

  
“Stop looking at me lie that, or the rumormonger over there will assume I've outraged your virtue,” Mithian said, a little prim. She sipped her wine, then continued. “It's only something to keep in mind in the extremely unlikely and highly theoretical chance it doesn't work out with your omega. It's just an option, Arthur. A back-up. I'm just volunteering myself as understudy.”

  
Arthur reached for his scotch. “It's going to work out,” he said stubbornly, before finishing it off.

  
“I'm almost sure it will,” Mithian smiled encouragingly. “You'll be devastatingly happy, and I can't wait for the wedding. I just want you to remember that life is capricious, Arthur.”

  
And Arthur couldn't disagree with that. As stubbornly as he believed that his wait was over, that someone was waiting just for him, and that there would be a wedding, and sex and then domesticity and children, he was also aware that he and Mithian were evidence of how wrong things could go even when you were at your happiest. Sometimes you mated, married and just started with the blissfully contented part when your mate got cancer and died so fast you got whiplash. Then everything ended before you'd ever really begun. Then you were left behind, like Mithian, knowing that nothing was ever going to be as good as those meager years. There were car accidents and illness and...

  
Sometimes there were deaths in childbirth, leaving behind families so fractured they would never recover.

  
Life was far from perfect. He'd be wise to have a back-up plan, really. He and Mithian would be a striking couple; their children would have every advantage. Their respective fathers would celebrate over a union they'd thought was next to impossible and maybe even had given up in every regard, except in their heart of hearts.

  
Still. It felt like an invitation for something to go wrong, preparing this alternate course for his life. Or, it would have, if Arthur was a suspicious alpha. Which he wasn't.

  
Everything was going to be fine. Everything was going to be perfect.

 

ᴥ

  
 _Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys_

  
 _Subject: Le Fey, Morgana_

  
_Sexugender./Physiogender: Theta/female_

  
_Orientation: Femsexual_

  
_Marital Status: Single_

  
_I lost my parents when I was quite young. A car accident. I was in the car, but I wasn't hurt too badly. I was rushed to the hospital and all my medical decisions were put into the hands of my intended guardian, my 'Uncle'. He was a close friend of the family, no real relation, but I'd know him since birth. He saw me through it. I healed, but somehow in all the chaos a head x-ray was taken, and there it was, no canines waiting to drop in my little head. So, I went to live with my Uncle, and his son. He'd already had his son x-rayed, even though it was discouraged, and he knew he'd be an alpha. With me, it was either omega or beta. I was eight years old, I played soccer. I had the entire playground at school terrified of me and was dreaming of becoming a jet pilot, so you see I was the kind of girl with scraped knees and a sense of adventure. I knew who I was._

  
_All of a sudden, none of the things I loved to do were lady-like enough. Or, well-advised after all my injuries. I found myself in ballet classes, etiquette lessons, sewing school, every soft thing you can think of, short of finishing school. Some people would have loved it. I didn't. I could play nice, and I tried, but I'm a little vicious, deep down. I didn't want to be Cinderella, waiting for the alpha prince to try the shoe on me. I wanted to be Jack the giant slayer or Molly Whuppie._

  
_I did try, though. Did try to mold myself into the expectations of my uncle, who was the closest thing I had to a parent and I wanted to please him, I wanted him to love me and not send me away. I was always frightened I'd be sent to an orphanage. I had nightmares about it, like little Sara Crewe, from **The Little Princess**. So I tried to make him happy. Even after I was fully healed, I kept up with all the hideous classes, I learned how to crochet, scrap-book, waltz, cook, converse, anything you like. I got straight As in school, stopped fighting, stopped climbing trees, became the model omega lady. I thought if I just learned one more skill, if I just got a little better at that, if I won a commendation in this, he'd love me. As an orphan, it made sense I'd have to work harder for his affection._

  
_What I should have noticed was his son was in the same boat. My 'cousin' was trying to be the best in multiple sports, studying to get perfect grades, laboring to make all the right friends and generally trying to be the absolute perfect alpha son he could be before his canines dropped. My uncle expected it; that his son would be the distillation of the perfect alpha, the way I would be the most perfect dainty omega. I somehow didn't see that even though he was my uncle's natural child, he had to work even harder than I did for grudging drops of affection. My uncle indulged me, if you were to rate behavior on his particular scale. A kind of distant doting, too remote to be really warm, but distinctly better than what his own blood got. But even with that happening alongside me, for years I tried to be everything he wanted._

  
_So my childhood is discordant. My earliest years are blurry with love, but mostly I remember two children slavishly trying to get blood from a stone._

 

ᴥ

  
“Merlin.” Cenred let himself into Merlin's office without knocking. He was smiling unctuously.

  
Merlin slid a folder over the recently acquired stack of medical journals about the unumverumconjunx in an easy motion and managed a smile for Cenred. “Professor Ellis.”

  
“And how has the first week of the new year at Albion U gone for you, Merlin?” Cenred asked. Merlin assumed he was going for playfully charming, but his eyes were crawling all over Merlin.

  
He could hardly tell Professor Cenred Ellis that while he was glad to be among students again, pleased to be lecturing, gratified to be inspiring young people to think, the administrative bullshit and Cenred slithering around the building were aspects of the job that Merlin found tiresome and annoying. It would never do to tell one's boss he was a toadying creeper, even if he was. Of course, that would end if Merlin ever found Cenred peering under a toilet stall at him.

  
“Fine. Bright bunch of freshmen, a few switching to psych or sociology majors.” Merlin said.

  
Cenred nodded and then finally left the threshold he'd been lingering in. He approached Merlin's desk, hands in his pockets and completely failing to appear casual. “Congratulations on the study. Getting some good press, I hear. What's more, Olaf tells me you'll be making your television debut on our local public television station to talk about it.”

  
The invitation to appear had been a surprise even to Merlin, but one of the programs on the local public channel had contacted him about coming on the show and talking about his study and his findings. He'd been hesitant at first, as he'd no particular desire to be on the TV. He was much more at home surrounded by piles of research material, lost in a library or laboratory rather than on a stage with an audience. Review boards and committees were about all he could take. If faced with a television camera and the knowledge that a thousand people were watching, Merlin was worried he'd just gibber nervously. He'd voiced this concern, and been vigorously assured though that the show's host, Daegal Stewart, was magic at getting people into engaging discussions. So, Merlin had agreed. Anything to give him other things to worry about. A television debut was doing nicely; what to wear, would he look ridiculous, how much should he say …

  
It was not unbeknownst to Olaf, it seemed.

  
“Yes. It's just a local show,” Merlin said, adding a dismissive tone to make it sound even less important.

  
“Mm. Well, next time you might want to ask me before you agree to something so public,” Cenred said.

  
Merlin tightened his lips and then forced himself to relax. “The university has no authority to moderate with whom or how I discuss the findings of my study, Professor Ellis.”

  
“Now, Merlin. Call me Cenred. It's not like that at all. We're an institution of learning, we value the acquisition and dissemination of knowledge above all things. I'm really pleased Albion has gotten such positive attention through you, it's a feather in our cap. It would just be nice to have a heads up, to know one of our own has some of the limelight.” Cenred's smile was back to being charming, every word dripping with sincerity, but empty, like hollow chocolate rabbits at Easter; the words only as filling as the appearance.

  
Still. Play nice. Cenred was his boss and Merlin liked his job.

  
He made himself smile. “I'm sorry I misunderstood.”

  
“No harm done.” Cenred was all benevolence. He casually picked up the framed photograph Gwen had given Merlin of himself, Gwen and Freya sunburned, happy and covered in sand in Florida from a few years back. Cenred smiled. “ Nice suit. As it happens I also heard that you were out of town for Spring Break. Go anywhere special?” He let the question hang, clearly hoping Merlin would jump for it.

  
“No, not particularly. I collected more data,” Merlin said, and it wasn't even a lie. He didn't care where Cenred thought he'd been. If Cenred had outside confirmation as to Merlin's precise movements in Montana, Merlin was not discussing it with him.

  
Cenred quirked a brow. “Are you sure? I thought I heard from Professor Scherenhanden at Gawant --”

  
The door tipped open as Alice Cullen, Merlin's new TA, stepped in with a thick stack of books “Here they are, Professor, do you want me to – oh, I'm sorry.”

  
Merlin sent a prayer of thanks to the Mercy Gods for the timely interruption, though he would have to have words with them later about their lack of intercession with the capricious whims of the Irony Gods. He smiled at Alice and patted his desk. “That's fine, Alice, just set them here.”

  
Alice carried the books over. Behind her, Cenred was trying hard to look unconcerned, but his eyebrows were pinched with displeasure.

  
“Professor Ellis, this is Alice Cullen, my TA. Professor Ellis is our head of department.”

  
Alice, unruffled (she was one of the most serene people Merlin knew), turned and smiled pleasantly at Cenred. He, in turn, pasted on a bright smile and hastily set down Merlin's photograph.

  
“Ms. Cullen. Always happy to meet a future social scientist.”

  
“Hello,” Alice said, and Merlin saw the studied care she took in looking Cenred over. Without turning her back to Cenred Alice angled towards Merlin. “I'm sorry for interrupting, Professor.”

  
Cenred was still being the indulgent boss. “Not at all. Good to see such an efficient TA. I'm sure it's I who is interrupting your work. We'll speak later, Merlin.”

  
Cenred smiled, but by the time he'd gotten to the door his smile had melted. He left, pulled the door closed behind him with a pointed click. Merlin could hear him retreating down the corridor.

  
Alice looked at the closed door, her head tilted. She said blithely, “He's not very nice, is he?”

  
“No.” Merlin rubbed between his eyebrows. He picked up one of the books from the stack Alice had unpacked. _The Mystic Omega_ was on top. He flipped through a few pages, then closed it, and set it back atop the pile. Alice slipped into the small table wedged in the corner, but did not lull into quiet as Merlin expected.

  
“I have a brother, Edward. He's femalpha, but he's so different from alphas like that, I forget sometimes that alphas can be enormous douchehats,” Alice reported. She was stapling packets of freshly copied papers with the big industrial sized stapler. It thunked loudly when she compressed it.

  
Merlin had to stop the smirk before it bloomed. “Are you passing judgment on Professor Ellis, Alice?”

  
She gave him a fey little smile and winked.

  
Merlin chuckled, despite the sense of dissatisfaction and a distinct lack of motivation saturating him. He liked Alice. Maybe there was a more somber student he could have chosen to be his TA this term, but Alice was so very good at reading people, and had such a blunt, airy humor about it. He needed the distraction of her mix of efficiency and blithely candid roguery this term, especially because she didn't look at him with starry-eyed worship. Despite her spacey feyness, Alice Cullen was a betafem with a bright mind.

  
He fiddled with a few of the books in the solid stack beside him. _The Codex of Ancient Love Practices_ , _The Alpha Conundrum_ , _Sexugender, Ceremony and the Bacchanalia_. He read their dust jacket flaps and author blurbs, flipped through the bibliographies, tried to get excited by a good read. Only he didn't seem to have much verve to drum up at just this moment.

  
After having looked at all the books – so the former volumes at the top now occupied the bottom of the stack – and not feeling an affinity for any of them, Merlin surrendered. “Go ahead and go home, Alice,”

  
“I'll stay,” she offered. “You have all those discs with the periodicals. I could go through a few, flag relevant issues.”

  
“No. It's Friday. Go have fun, take Jasper out,” Merlin said, remembering the southern gentlebeta who'd collected Alice from her interview, and often walked her to class.

  
Merlin knew he should stay, do some research or some proposal writing for his next grant. Go over the emails for the next Study Abroad Committee meeting he was still banished to. Prep a lecture-- hell, clean his desk.  
He couldn't seem to muster up the enthusiasm for any of the things he should be doing.

  
Instead, he packed up and left the office. Not wanting to go home, and in light of his dinner plans with Gwen, he opted to walk across campus to her building. It was windy, but Merlin chose to think of it as invigorating as it rushed his cheeks pink. It felt good, cleared the cobwebs out.

  
It was Gwen's weekend to go see Lance up in the city. They'd been going back and forth most of the summer. That dainty kiss Merlin witnessed was on its way to being much more than a prelude to a summer fling. Gwen refused to commit to labels, but was responding with enthusiasm. She'd worked up a little caution but, she pointed out, she'd met Arthur already and she doubted Arthur would let his friend cheat with a wife hidden away somewhere.

  
It was something Merlin had been forced to concur with. Arthur was, at the end of the day, a stalwart kind of guy. Though, really, Lance seemed too nice a person to lock an insane wife in the attic. He'd probably confess it himself after being sick of secret keeping, before Arthur ever got around to tattling.

  
Merlin let himself into Gwen's building, and shot her a text. She gave him an ETD and Merlin headed for the small lounge to wait for her. He plunked onto the couch and had just pulled his laptop open when Professor Maggie Walsh, a malpha colleague of Gwen's, came in. She gave him a thin smile. Merlin responded in kind, though something about her always weirded him out.

  
“I read your study, Dr. Emrys,” she said. “Very enlightening.”

  
“Thanks,” he said.

  
“I'm interested in what you think widespread blocker use will do for mating and birth rates, if this continues,” she asked as she refilled her coffee. “Considering we are already not at a replacement fertility rate, and marriage rates have dropped steadily since the 1970s.”

  
This was unexpected. “Er,” Merlin shrugged. “That kind of depends on whether you think marriage is a desirable state, doesn't it? You don't really need to be married to bear children. The dropping statistics began before blockers ever came into widespread use. Blockers make it easier, but people don't go on medicinal regimens just because they can, so I think you have to look at the other causes of RFR; higher education, urbanization, economics, and availability of contraception.”

  
“But you do think blockers will continue to affect birth rate and lead us to a general aging of the population?” Dr. Walsh prompted.

  
“Again, blockers are a tool, but they aren't the cause. Changing social options and industry and economy are. Evolution of our species in a social sense.”

  
Dr. Walsh smiled a cagey little smile. “And you are all for this social evolution.”

  
“Michael Harrington said it quite well, 'If there is technological advance without social advance, there is, almost automatically, an increase in human misery, in impoverishment' We can't expect one aspect of our lives to change and not affect the others.” Merlin shrugged and offered a smile.

  
Dr. Walsh began to head for the door. “But don't forget, Dr. Emrys. As one aspect of the chain evolves to elude its natural predator, so too must that which preys upon it adapt.”

  
Dr. Walsh sipped her coffee and walked out of the lounge. Merlin watched her go, wondering what had provoked the sudden discussion. He was always happy to talk, but as far as he could remember Dr. Walsh had never spoken directly to him.  
When she'd gone, Merlin opened his email. With a hitch in his belly, he found an email from Arthur waiting.

  
He had never thought Arthur would actually use his contact information. It was just one of those things people did, wasn't it? Insist they needed one another's information even though nine times out of ten, neither was ever going to contact the other outside of obligatory friending on Facebook. It would have been rude to refuse to hand it out, particularly in light of how they were getting along by the end of the week. Lance already had his information, after all; why not Arthur? What was he going to do, invite Merlin to a charity dinner he couldn't afford? That was easy to turn down.

  
Then Arthur surprised him. He actually wrote him. And not just the obligatory stuff, but a real email, full of arrogant nonsense begging to be refuted and the odd touching moment of sincerity. After a small freak-out on Merlin's part, somehow they'd settled into an antagonistic but enjoyable digital correspondence. Though it caused Merlin to worry whenever his inbox registered a fresh email from Arthur. He couldn't help it.

  
Merlin skimmed through the email. He answered it with equal enthusiasm, even if somewhere in the back of his mind he was sure he should be as brief and boring as possible. Maybe if he were a dullard Arthur would give it up. He didn't really have much hope of it, but Merlin liked to imagine. Sometimes this felt uncomfortably like teasing himself and provoking Arthur.  
He'd just sent it off when Gwen came along, bags in hand. Together they made their way to the parking lot, and then drove to Gwen's home in separate cars.

  
An hour later they were stuffed full of take-out Chinese food, occupied in Gwen's bedroom.

  
Gwen's drawers were all organized by color and type, everything folded with the perfection rarely seen outside of high end department stores. She had some arcane method of packing which made sure that not a single article of clothing was wrinkled when she arrived at her destination.

  
Merlin sat at the vanity on the ruffled stool and made himself useful by not being in the way. He did get to pack designated jewelry into the travel size jewelry case though, so he wasn't completely useless.

  
Talking with Gwen had at once become awkward and yet had achieved some new intimate level. While any topics brought up would be met with acceptance, there was a certain tension waiting for specific topics to arise. By proximity to Lance, Gwen was privy to information about Arthur. Thus informed, she seemed to feel she was obliged to pass it on to Merlin, no matter how many times he explained he didn't care, it wasn't any of his business and Arthur wrote him emails and told him most of it anyway. Gwen still insisted on these reports, so Merlin listened, but didn't comment despite how much Gwen wanted to discuss whom Arthur was seeing and what he was doing.

 

“So, what's on the docket for this weekend?” he asked.

 

“Hopefully not much. It's been a long week, I just want to relax,” Gwen said.

 

“I have it on good authority you're probably getting a foot rub,” Merlin volunteered.

 

Gwen smiled. “That sounds wonderful … I'll pick us up a bottle of wine, I think.”

 

They packed until Gwen said slowly, “If I see Arthur, should I--”

 

“No.”

  
“And if he's still dating that actress?”

  
“More power to him. May their babies be fat and stupidly blond and star as Rocky in _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ revivals.”

  
“And if he isn't?”

  
“Gwen, has it occurred to you our lives do not pass the Bechdel test?”

  
Gwen threw some wadded up socks at him.

 

  
ᴥ

 

 _Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._  
 _Subject: Le Fey, Morgana_

  
 _Sexugender./Physiogender: Theta/female_

  
_Orientation: Femsexual_

  
_Marital Status: Single_

  
_I realized over time my Uncle was never going to be much of a father figure. I suppose he loved me and his son, but in his own way. We never wanted for material things, there was always lots of money, big gifts, massive house, extravagant parties. He wasn't even wholly absent; he came home for Christmas, he attended all our birthday parties – which was fitting, seeing as he arranged them and populated them with the best kind of society. People he thought we should associate with, whose photos would get the party into the gossip sites, rather than who we wanted. It was affection on the basis of doing what he wanted when he wanted._

  
_I suppose it started in middle school. The beginnings of puberty, probably. I just suddenly got so unspeakably angry about the unfairness and the horribleness of it all. I realized I'd been working for years, bending myself into the shape he wanted me to take, and I hated every moment of my life. I felt like I didn't have a self, I couldn't recognize who I'd become, who my cousin had become. I'd come to think of him as my brother. As children we'd started to support and antagonize each other in equal measures. But at this point I got angry at him, too. For being weak, unable to resist the demands of this monstrous parent. He still thought it was him. He thought he wasn't good enough, and he wouldn't hear a bad word spoken against his father. I realized I didn't really have an ally, a brother. He was his father's eager disciple._

  
_On top of that, I'd realized that males didn't attract me at all. I liked women, and even at twelve, or, whatever I was, I knew that being a femsexual was not going to be permitted._

  
_So, I rebelled. It makes me smile now, but at the time it was a house of tension. Screaming arguments, defiance and endless punishment. I stopped doing everything he wanted, and did what I wanted to do. I joined soccer, I practiced tae kwon do, I went out for debate, I dressed like a slut and beat up alphas, and kissed pretty girls. I was wild. I just exploded out of my constraints with my uncle beside himself for the little omega he'd been planning on trading to some friend or another. He never said it, but I look back now and see it. I was being groomed like chattel to be married off to some rich son or another. My whole life, my personality subverted for what everyone presumed was going to be between my legs. It's sick._

  
_But even he didn't know. I'm sure he thought it was teenage growing pains, rebellion, a beta or omega in need of the firm alpha hand to keep her in line. He subdued me a number of times, when the arguments got too heated. I'd get hysterical, and he'd-- but he was so convinced he knew what was best, what I'd be, what I needed._

  
_And then, when I was fourteen, my genitals started to come in. My whole world shifted. I'd been raised to think I'd be beta or omega, since I had no canines. No one prepared me for the changes that happened to the alpha body. I was eating all the time, it felt like, craving protein. I'd sneak downstairs in the middle of the night and eat leftover meat from dinner. Once I ate an entire chicken in one sitting. It was terrifying. And exhilarating. At first my labia was just very swollen, and my clit was so, so sensitive, and I could just touch it a little and orgasm. I masturbated multiple times daily, very happily. And my labia got fuller, my clit a little puffy, but I attributed that the copious amounts of self abuse. Then it started becoming extreme. I was sore all the time, and then I could feel them. My testes. This was before the proper internet, so I found out what was happening through my health text book, which strikes me as funny, as those books are so rarely useful. I realized what I was; a theta. And I knew that was worse than anything else. I knew I had to hide the changes at all cost. I started behaving a little better, not giving anyone cause to ask questions because I just knew having a femsexual theta was not among the things my uncle could tolerate. I just had to wait, get into college, then I could be free._

  
_For months they were just wedged there, not quite descended. It looked like I was smuggling golf balls between my thighs, everything cramped and tender because sitting on those awful plastic school chairs trapped them between my pelvis and the chair and I didn't dare bring something to sit on. My cock was slower; my testes descended, and for awhile it was just them, my clit swollen and puffy but not growing. I learned to tuck them. That year bought me time. Then my clit started to change, growing and I learned to tape it down. Physically it all felt so right, so natural, once I got over the strangeness of my body altering. Despite the pain of it, this was me. This was who I was supposed to be … and yet._

  
_From appeals for love, to rage at denial, and then biding my time. I might have made it, too. Except he suspected my sudden compliance. He was cagey, I'll give him that. He hired some man to follow me. He got pictures. Pictures of me naked with a beta girl at some party. When I got home, my uncle demanded the truth._

 

  
ᴥ

 

  
The studio in which Daegal Stewart's show, _Local Wonders_ , was filmed was small, and thankfully not all that imposing. It was located in a light industrial park, with nary a scary suit to be seen. The staff were pleasant, the crew laid back, the actual studio area small and unassuming, not at all the massive sound stage Merlin had been imagining in his head.

  
There had been a long clothing debate with Freya and Gwen. In the end a navy suit with a dusty gold tie was agreed upon, and Merlin was threatened on pain of death not to touch the slacks with the perfect crease. Why, he wasn't sure; he was going to be sitting down at a table, no one was even going to see his legs, but then, he'd also received a lecture about not getting egg on his tie. As it turned out, he was too antsy for food.

  
Merlin arrived early to the studio, as advised, and was swept into a green room where a betafem with purple hair and a nose ring did his make up. He was nervous and bouncing his leg at a rapid rate to expel some of the energy. Consequently, she had to keep kicking him in the foot when verbal reminders did nothing to quell his jitters.

  
As she was finishing up, a knock on the door precipitated the appearance of the young man Merlin had googled. Daegal Stewart had expressive brown eyes with subdued make up under a carefully styled thatch of brown hair and a focused energy. He wore a pale khaki suit with a trim pencil skirt, the jacket a pale neutral line over the cayenne colored silk blouse. His legs were shaved under sheer stockings and he wore surprisingly bright pumps to match his blouse.

  
The make-up betafem whistled, then smiled wolfishly and winked at Merlin. “The over-sixties will coo themselves to death, you two adorable little dolls on screen.”

  
“Ignore her,” Daegal advised, “I hired the most crude applicant possible for the job to pre-harden me to the hecklers. Daegal.” He extended a hand to Merlin.

  
Merlin rose from the chair to shake it, despite the clucking protest of the make up girl. Once they shook hands she edged him back to the chair. “For your own good, otherwise you'll look like the living dead. And stop with the foot!”

  
Daegal went to perch on the edge of the attached counter right in Merlin's line of sight, his back to the bright mirrors where Merlin could see himself being made over to appear more vivid on camera.

  
“Now, I know you're nervous, but you don't need to be. It's going to go just as I told you; we'll start, just me and you, I'll introduce you, then I'll ask you some questions about your study, a kind of general overview.”

  
Merlin shifted in his seat. “Shouldn't I know the questions? Isn't that what they do on talk shows? So I'm ready with an answer?” Instead of having to think on the spot, which would invariably lead to him feeling pressured for time, and blurting out any old answer, which was sometimes what he did at meetings. It was not a strategy to convince people you were clever.

  
Daegal shook his head. “I like it to be real, spontaneous. Having a real discussion, and not just exchanging plugged dialogue.”

  
Merlin nodded. He could see the wisdom to that, though he wasn't much of an orator. He'd have done better giving pre-written responses he could be sure were sensible. Still, what did he know about television? Best leave it to the expert.

  
“After that, I'm going to bring in my other guest, maybe you know her? Professor Dolores Umbridge?”

  
Merlin bit back an amused sound. “We've met,” he affirmed, and did have to compliment whoever did Daegal's hiring. He and Professor Umbridge had never got on, and had opposite views on nearly everything.

  
“Once I've introduced her, I really just want to see a discussion coming from these two sides, and I'll ask questions and guide as needed.” Daegal shot him a smile. “I figure you both know your stuff.”

  
“I do,” Merlin hesitated. “She isn't going to-- uh...” Merlin sought around for a delicate way to ask his question.

  
Daegal's smiled widened. “I've had Professor Umbridge on before as a counter opinion, she knows she only gets a certain amount of sermonizing.”

  
Merlin let out a sigh of relief, then blushed. “Sorry, it's just, – it's a little hard to argue academically with the 'God Says' defense, and it never looks good.”

  
“Don't worry,” Daegal said. “I don't want angry complaints either.”

  
The make-up betafem snorted. “I'd think you'd be flattered people noticed enough to complain. Your turn.” She jerked her brush to the chair beside Merlin, and Daegal sunk into it with a long suffering sigh. Professor Umbridge entered then, packed into her fussy pink suit with the arty Hello Kitty brooch. After some polite greetings, Merlin headed off to get a coffee and calm his nerves. He needed the caffeine to be sure he was on his toes, and he left Daegal chatting distractedly with the simpering professor.

  
Merlin drank strong coffee, ate three cookies and checked his phone, and found texts from nearly everyone he knew. He bulk-answered them with a stupid selfie of him with an enormous goofy open mouthed grin in front of the television cameras.

  
 _LOL_ Gwen texted _Too cute. You're a celebrity now! Am sending that to Arthur_.

  
Merlin texted her another picture of himself flipping her the bird and the comment _Empty Threat_. Gwen poked at him, but she never directly meddled.

  
The actual studio was small, the set basically a dais in front of a deep green backdrop. There was a glossy black table, Daegal already sitting on one side, flicking through some note-cards, while a member of the crew attached a microphone. When Merlin walked in the room he had been jumped by the same guy to 'mike' him. He was now being very careful not to jar the little black device clipped to his lapel while he waited, listening to the rhythmic babble of this workspace.

  
“Which camera do I look at?” Merlin asked as he sank down to sit in the opposing chair, eyeing both the devices.

  
“Neither. Look at me,” Daegal said. “We're just having a talk; the cameras are only there incidentally.”

  
A betamale in a green hoodie was the one who counted them down, just like they did in the movies, the first few numbers out loud, the last mouthed. Music cued and Daegal swiveled to look at one of the two cameras that drifted by.

  
“Hello everyone, Daegal Stewart here, as ever, and this is _Local Wonders_.” He gave a particular smile for the camera, then launched into about a minute's worth of assorted news, updates and reminders, which blurred in Merlin's mind until Daegal shifted his chair and was facing Merlin across the table.

  
“I am quite personally pleased to have with me Dr. Merlin Emrys, associate professor of sociology at Albion University's Mercia College. Welcome, Dr. Emrys.”

  
“Thank you, Mr. Stewart, and thank you for having me.” Merlin managed a smile, forced himself to focus just on Daegal, not on the awareness of people watching them from the dark, where the cameras lurked.

  
Daegal smiled, bright and obliging. “Daegal is fine, please. I had to have you on when I read your new study on suppressants. The study which is called _Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture_.”

  
Merlin nodded along while Daegal continued, looking at the camera to fill the future audience. “This is a fascinating study. Dr. Emrys has interviewed hundreds of people who are on or have been on suppressants for over three years. He collected data across the country -- the reasons why people go onto blocker regimens, how their lives have changed, how they haven't, why they continue to take suppressants.” Daegal turned back to Merlin “Would you sum up the intent of this study for us, Dr. Emrys?”

  
An easy question for starters, good. Merlin tried not to think of the camera's bulging eye focusing in on him and took a breath. “Well, we're in a state of flux, as a culture. Our gender roles are transforming, expanding; we're moving away from rigid definitions of sexu-gender, physio-gender, masculinity and femininity, the social roles of genders. We're beginning to embrace the full spectrum of sexuality, with LGBTQIA issues coming to the forefront. In the midst of all this change, we're seeing suppressants becoming more and more common, but not a lot of work has been done on the cause of this upswing in blocker use while in a time of such substantial social change.”

  
“I have noticed suppressant use becoming increasingly common,” Daegal said with a tilt of the head. “ Comparing it with, say, twenty years ago, when it was still unusual to run into.”

  
Merlin nodded, “It has. In the last ten years use of suppressants has tripled. Recently there has been a lot of controversy with healthcare, and employers taking exception to being required to offer insured healthcare which may include things they have a moral or religious objections to, which includes birth control, heat control, rut-dull, suppressants and bond-blockades, many of which are ostensibly omega-used products. It made me wonder about who was really taking blockers, and why, and what is the advantage of the use in a broad sense that so many people are electing to go on a blocker regimen.” Was it too much, Merlin wondered? But Daegal seemed intent on him and interested.

  
Daegal said, “Let's talk about omegas first, because despite contrary evidence, I think most people still tend to think of suppressants as an A/O medication, but more emphasis on it being for omegas. I've always been very open about being a femega, and it's been very important for me to be open and clear. More and more these days, we find that people won't back down from or subvert their identities in exchange for advancement. Clearly, some people think the reverse. What, according to your study, Dr. Emrys, was the main reason people ascribed to their use of suppressants?”

  
“Actually, about three quarters had an employment-sourced reason, or something based on their professional lives and their interactions with people. It ranged from wanting recognition for possessed skills rather than perceived sexugender strengths, not wanting recognition, fulfilling ambitions beyond glass ceilings, avoiding workplace sexism, preventatives against future harassment when they have past experiences with prejudice and a general desire for a sexual anonymity in a place where your sexuality shouldn't be factoring into the equation, but is,” Merlin said.

Daegal chuckled. “We hear that a lot, don't we? That the sexual revolution is over, men, women, alphas, betas and omegas are all equal and we should just stop complaining.”

  
Merlin joined him in a dry laugh and nodded. “And at the same time we read complaints about things being 'feminized' and 'omegized', that there's no place for a man to be a man, or an alpha to be an alpha. The problem is that the numbers don't bear that assertion out. Betas and omegas are still paid 75 cents to every dollar an alpha makes, and sometimes omegas dip down to 60 cents. Alphas dominate governmental positions and head more companies than betas and omegas combined. Traditionally beta and omega industries, like education, social assistance, child-care and healthcare are notoriously under paid.”

  
“So, what you're saying is that sexism and genderism is alive and well in our workforce, no matter what we hear?” Daegal said. “Who knew?”

  
“Which is one of the reasons that people are electing to mute facets of their sexugender, because that prejudice factors in so often. Not just that omegas and betas want to climb ladders in industries where alphas are advanced before others, but, interestingly, we saw a percentage of alphas that did not want promotion, did not want to automatically find themselves in leadership positions.”

  
“Which is contrary to this national picture we have of alphas as big, tough and in-charge.”

  
“Yes, it is, and it isn't just omegas being discriminated against in the workplace. Discrimination is a human issue, not an alpha issue. Just as many alphas who chose care-giving fields were facing prejudices about their capacities.”

  
“Sometimes an alpha is being disfavored for being big, tough and in-charge?” Daegal raised his brows.

  
“Sometimes,” Merlin said.

  
“As concerning alphas, what other reasons did they have for going on a blocker regimen?” Daegal asked.

  
“Quite a wide range of reasons,” Merlin said, and began to recall. “Focus, was one, the desire not to have their biology distract them, or have them behaving in hormonally induced and inadvisable manners. Blockers can reduce alpha aggression, regulate it without completely depleting it. In fact, a number of alphas, especially those who were required to liaise or work diplomatically chose to go on blockers because of the aggression they would be perceived to have as alphas, and they didn't want people they were dealing with to feel threatened, but also needed that alpha chutzpah. Some chose to mask their sexugender as a tactic, kind of like going in camouflage. But as I said, many of them were not looking to attain leadership positions, or find themselves nominated to them by peers.”

  
“Can you give us an example?” Daegal asked.

  
“Ah, femalphas, stay-at-home femalpha mothers are a good one. They would often find themselves inundated with pressure to be head of the PTA, scout troop leaders, coaches, leaders of book-groups, church groups, spearheading fund-raising efforts and heads of various other committees. Everyone around them would expect them to want to do this, while at the same time they would be facing very hostile treatment from betas or omegas who wanted or had held those positions. The supposition being they wanted to be in charge of these groups, when in fact they might not want to be. Some do, and thrive in those situation, but an equal number wanted to participate but not lead. They found blockers helped diffuse some of the social pressure.”

  
“There's a disconnect, isn't there? With what we expect of alphas and what they are,” Daegal said.

  
Merlin nodded, but made a staying gesture. “On the other end of the scale, a number of nursing homes who cater to forms dementia require their malpha patients to be on blockers.”

  
“Just the malphas?” Daegal said with a quirk.

  
“Femalphas go through a form of menopause, and their instincts will lapse somewhat. Malphas don't, and especially when dealing with the elderly who are also, say, Alzheimer’s sufferers, this can be difficult, because they have such powerful drives, but might not have the faculties for appropriate behavior.”

  
“What about omegas?” Daegal flipped a card over, but hadn't seemed to look at them once. His eyes were on Merlin, compelling, and he was right. Merlin was too caught up in the talk, in his factual recall, that he hadn't faltered once.

  
“Omegas were more likely to go on a blocker regimen to aid family planning. Omegas with high stress jobs, or in largely alpha work environments are also likely candidates. I saw a number of omegas who were uncomfortable with the unrestrained sexuality associated with heat, either because they feared their own behavior, or sometimes because they were alarmed by what was expected of them. They'd compare their wants and behavior to that exhibited in movies, or books, or pornography, and felt there was something wrong or lacking with them."

  
“That seems to come up a lot, doesn't it? People looking at their representations in media and rejecting or otherwise using those norms as a standard against which to rate themselves,” Daegal said.

  
Merlin nodded in agreement. “It does. People are really internalizing the identities that parts of society want to immovably cast them in, only now they have a method to thwart and defy expectations, and that's what we're seeing. People choosing that anonymity.”

  
Daegal's brow furrowed. “What do you think this means for the fight against sexism? How should the generation of breeders who fought for Breeder's Liberation respond to this?”

  
A good question. Merlin chewed on it a moment thoughtfully. “Honestly? It's a double edged sword. On the one hand, it empowers breeders to accomplish in spite of such views, allows them to circumvent such ideals. It forces us to look at one an other as people, instead of trying frantically to slot one an other into these strict compartments.” He lifted his other hand. “But, it also isn't changing those fundamental values which lead to sexism and gender prejudices. Are things really being changed if we just avoid the problem?”

  
Daegal was smiling. “Catch twenty two, eh?”

  
“Yes, and I really don't think we should undermine the progress Breeder's Liberation made in making the world a better place.”

  
“And I'm scared of Gloria Steinem,” Daegal confided.

  
It was Merlin's turn to smile unabashed. “Probably you should be.”

  
Daegal laughed and then waved as if to clear the topic out of the air. “All right, back to your study. How about, what are the commonalities? We can't be all that different, except for work.”

  
“Besides work conditions specifically, both genders were also taking blockers so they could focus on their professional lives, following a recent trend of people waiting longer to start families. Both omegas and alphas chose blockers in order to facilitate more casual relationships and sexual liberation. College age alpha and omega subjects were more likely to be taking blockers so as to focus on their studies and not be distracted by mating. Some older persons were taking them to avoid mating, period. Bereavement was sometimes a factor. We found a fairly even dispersal across all sexugenders of homosexuals taking suppressants.”

  
“Betas, too?”

  
“Betas, too. Betas more frequently, actually.”

  
“That brings us to the elephant in the room. What about the betas?” Daegal leaned forward.

  
“We have a cultural disparity, without a doubt, and while omegas are viewed as possessions and must be protected for child rearing, betas are often wholly disposable in the masalpharchy. Most of our work force is beta, and most of our government is alpha, and blockers are providing betas an enormous chance here. Betas are taking this chance, and using suppressants to bypass this institutionalized sexism. They can now aim and achieve positions of leadership instead of being relegated to right-hands or second-in-commands.”

  
Daegal shuffled his cards and lifted one. “So, what do you think of this charter school, opening next year in California, which has an experimental program for high school students on blockers?”

  
Merlin twitched his head side to side. “It will be interesting, to see what happens, but I have some concerns about putting still-developing young people on suppressants. Some people did stop using blockers, because of the side effects that can occur. Some terminated their use to begin a search for a mate or family or having completed the period in which they needed to be removed from the demands of the mating cycle. But suppressants do affect the body; they are medication.”

  
“Well, Dr. Emrys, this has been very interesting. Now I want to invite a familiar face, Professor Dolores Umbridge.” He paused, gesturing to the side, where, Merlin realized abruptly, Professor Umbridge must have been watching the whole time. Still, Merlin fixed a polite smile on his face, and shook hands with the professor before everyone sat and smoothed their wardrobe down.

  
“Professor Umbridge have you read Dr. Emrys' study?” Daegal opened.

  
A nod. “I have, I have – oh, and most well done. Most thorough. An engaging read.”

  
“What were your thoughts?”

  
Umbridge made a little cough. “I must confess, I'm a little concerned about how many people are turning to pharmaceutical solutions for social problems. We have things like the Equal Opportunity Employment Act, Equal Pay Acts, or the Genetic Information Nondiscrimination Act to try and combat this. If people are choosing to take pills, it means our laws are somehow insufficient, and that calls in a few questions about the legal system, I should think.”

  
“I think those laws are valuable, but I also think sexism, like any other prejudice, is insidious,” Merlin said.

  
“You can't legislate for attitude or morality,” Daegal chimed in.

  
“Now, see, I do have an issue with throwing around such terms as sexism. I won't deny it's a problem, but nor will I deny that some people are over sensitive, and if a fellow wants to be chivalrous and open the door for an omega, I don't see there should be an outcry about it. It seems like breaking down sexism is also intent on breaking down some of our genteel ways which accord breeders the care they deserve. I think it's rather important to confer upon people the respect they have earned, don't you? We're a world too busy with our iPhones and Facebook updates to be kind to each other any more, we don't teach or adhere to codes of conduct to know how to treat one another.” Professor Umbridge, gesticulating gently, looked sad and rueful, as if remembering the halcyon days when breeders and children got in the lifeboats first, and the studs got to tread water. Then she smiled at Merlin in a way that was meant to be a kindly ' _oh, you young generations don't know what a good thing that world was_ '. He knew, because Professor Umbridge had shot that look at him before.

  
Merlin folded his hands. “I personally think statements like that are very telling. If you feel uncomfortable interacting with someone because zes sexugender is unknown and you don't know how to act without that information? What that says very clearly is that you have different models of behavior you're adhering to, not a single courteous code of conduct, not a standard, but treatment based on what someone is.”

  
“Now, see, the pity of that – there's no room for courtesy, for respect? I'm not sure about a world where a certain gentility has no place. After all, codes of conduct aren't evil. Where would mankind be without Bushido? The Geneva Convention? The Hippocratic Oath?”

  
Merlin smiled and shook his head. “No, codes of conduct are not evil; our development as a species owes a lot to standards of behavior, but at the same time these standards can limit and destroy. Oscar Wilde, Ingrid Bergman, James Barry. Codes of behavior can also be used to enforce the placement of people, and keep the empowered powerful.”

  
Daegal interjected here. “Professor Umbridge, you feel strongly about suppressants, don't you?”

  
“I do. While there is some benefit to be had, I think we need to look at the overall impact on our social behavior, and how wise it is to effect a large scale deception, rather than facing the world as it is, and as you are.”

  
“I agree that it's important to face and combat a problem, rather than avoid it, which is why I've always chosen not to be apologetic about my gender or my preferences; I'm here, I'm queer, Omega in high Gear!” Daegal gave a little pump of his fist, spinning the catchphrase with verve, but also a humor indicating he was aware it was a bit silly.

  
Merlin chuckled. “And I approve of pride, but you also cannot draft the world to your cause. People need to choose if they can and will fight. Some people are built for confronting adversity, and some people are not. There's a Conscientious Objector parallel in there, somewhere. If someone chooses privacy, we should be able to respect that, too.”

“Is this a war, Dr. Emrys? Are we going to be taking to the streets?” Professor Umbridge said, gently mocking.

“Not in the literal sense you mean, but in the simple process of reporting a transgression, or standing up to a supervisor. These things still take courage. Reporting can put you in the line of fire, endanger your job or make your work environment hostile. Not everyone can endure that, or is in a position to risk their livelihood, especially if they have dependents,” Merlin responded.  
Professor Umbridge folded her hands primly. “The good Lord helps those who help themselves. If the front line of the offense would rather take pills than fight the good fight, perhaps even they doubt the gravity and their righteousness of their cause. We were fashioned in these ways, and why not rejoice in all that we are, instead of pretending we're all the same? It startles me that people who speak of individuality would try so hard to blend in.”

  
“This isn't exactly a united front. People who choose blockers are doing so for a specific, personal purpose and are not automatically recruited into The Army of Rejecting the Mindset of Prejudice, Injustice and Tyranny. There's no participation caveat in obtaining a prescription.” Merlin returned. “And while certain prejudices will endure, what happens when we see increases of varied sexugenders elected into office? In CEO positions? While we're not having an outward 'battle', we're looking at a more egalitarian landscape, built on accomplishments.”

  
“I'm afraid I have to interrupt here, as we're running short of time. Dr. Emrys, I want to redirect you to one last topic, separate from the issue of the search for gender equality. In your study you refer to what the internet has dubbed as 'mock-blocks', could you explain what that term means?”

  
Merlin's stomach clenched, but he nodded, swallowing, endeavoring to cover his brief flutter of nerves. “Certainly. A 'mock-block' is someone who is on blockers, thus neutralizing zer sexugender scent, but who will then apply bought hormones or genfume gland scent from other genders, and therefore can masquerade as another sexugender.”

  
“Why does this happen?” Daegal asked.

  
“Really, it fell into two main categories; omegas and alphas would 'mock-block' themselves into betas, and therefore become anonymous in their anonymity, because they would no longer be a scent void; or, we saw all three primary genders pretending to be alpha or omega for the perceived social benefits.” Or, you know, avoiding your truemate out of terror for your entire career and life, but Merlin could hardly say that.

  
Daegal furrowed his brow, “That somehow seems like it should be illegal.” Arthur would probably have agreed with him.

  
Merlin sighed, and gave an admitting tilt of the head, “It's ethically questionable, no doubt, but I would not say the practice was wholly immoral. It's not illegal to take blockers and it's not illegal to wear hormones, nor perfume containing hormones. Yes, you've promoted an omega who smelled like an alpha, or you ended up in bed with a beta you thought was an omega after three shots at a dance club, or the beta you hired as a babysitter is really an alpha,” Merlin said. “But you can't litigate for being misled nasally, since we do have laws for equal employment. Your nose shouldn't be the sole factor in your decision making, any more than your genitals.”

  
Daegel nodded. “Most states have anti-discrimination laws for sexugender.”

  
Merlin said. “Yes, but we're very reliant on these scentmarkers, which does tell us that for all we want to boast how egalitarian we are as a nation, there are several corners of deep resentment at being deprived of that immediate capacity to identify and class. Which means it still matters to a lot of people, and we saw evidence of that. We encountered a lot of tales about employers who had made judgment calls about the genders of their employees, and had promoted someone they believed to be one gender, usually an alpha, but then it turned out not to be so. When they found out the true sexugender of the person they promoted, they often reported this outraged sense of being fooled or undermined, anger that your employer didn't know your 'real' sexual identity because it so clearly has something to do with the competency of your job. The discovery often lead to a sudden belief that the person couldn't do the job they were promoted to do in full confidence, when the employer was under the belief they were alpha.”

  
Umbridge coughed again, _hem-hem_. “But, it is a deception, Dr. Emrys. A rather public willingness to lie to everyone around you, and omit data that might be salient, for whether we like it or not there are fundamental differences to sexugenders. Does it not say that someone willing to take blockers and not identify themselves forthrightly is a liar?”

  
“I'm not sure anyone's sexual practice is the public's or your employer's business. It's not on your application, after all. Withholding that information is omission, perhaps, but so would be you not telling your co-workers you engaged in pony-play on the weekends.”

  
Umbridge frowned and squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, her staunch Christian upbringing clearly perturbed by such casually spoken outrages to decency.

  
Merlin carried on smoothly. “It could be argued that your psychological need to be bridled and treated like a horse would constitute a salient and perhaps potentially precarious vulnerability to your mental state … but law doesn't require that. You have no obligation to tell anyone about your romantic life, be it pony-play, flogging, same-sex relations or alpha/omega mating, and nor should you have to. A person's sexual identity is separate from being an office manager or working an assembly line or trading stocks. That is what blockers do; assure privacy for a private matter.”

  
“This is actually fascinating and I'd like to continue, but I'm afraid we're out of time. Thank you, Dr. Emrys, and again, that study is called _Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture_ by Dr. Merlin Emrys. I suggest you look into it. Professor Umbridge, always a pleasure to have you on the show.” Daegal wound down the show while Merlin sat quietly. He was trying to reflect back, but the time had whizzed by, leaving him only with blurry impressions.

  
The cameras went off and the crew began to chatter.

  
“Whew,” Daegal's eyes twinkled. Clearly he was jazzed by the rapid volley of ideas and arguments he'd provoked. He had been right, he was good at his job. Merlin was filled with happy adrenaline, feeling challenged.

  
Daegal beamed, while thanking both his guests effusively now that the cameras were off. Professor Umbridge smiled, extended her most gratified thanks, and set into praising Daegal and Merlin in a style that required a mutual polite and slightly perfunctory ego stroke about how awesome they each were. It did not have to be endured for long before the Professor excused herself. Merlin thanked Daegal again for making him feel as comfortable as promised, and made to leave, when Daegal caught his sleeve.

  
Merlin turned, and Daegal flushed and released him at once.

  
“Would you like – I mean, I hope you won't think it unprofessional, but would you like to have a drink sometime, maybe?”  
For a happening television personality, even if it was only a public access one, Daegal looked rather unsure. His words gave Merlin pause, caught in the unexpectedness of the moment.

  
“A drink?” Merlin parroted.

  
Daegale shrugged. “Coffee?”

  
“You're asking me on a date?” Merlin said, his brain still needing clarification, affirmation. True, Daegal had been open about his preferences, but he didn't really know Merlin's. Then again, there was no harm in asking.

  
“Trying to, yeah. Are you game?”

  
Was he?

  
Arthur's gleaming aureate head popped up like a meerkat from the black hole of Merlin's hindbrain. Rather than allow himself to feel guilty, Merlin herded this figment meerkat-Arthur back into the shadowy corner vault of Merlin's mind. It was a prison into which phantom Arthur had already been banished. Repeatedly, actually. Unfortunately, this phantom Meer-Arthur had proven an adept lock picker with pestiferous timing.

  
 _You're nothing to me_ , he reminded phantom-Arthur.

  
In fact, wasn't Daegal most of the things Arthur wasn't? Well spoken, genuine, kind, and, yeah, omega, but maybe it would do Merlin's system good.

  
So he smiled at Daegal. “I'd like that.”

 

  
ᴥ

 

  
Finna invited Gwen, Freya, and Gwaine to her house where they watched Merlin's appearance at six o'clock sharp on the television. When the theme music started up there were many cheers and catcalls. The program was broken by plentiful commentary, teasing and sincere, and gobs of disparaging remarks aimed at Professor Umbridge when she spoke. When it ended there was copious applause and praise. And a gushing phone call from his mother.

  
After everyone else had left Merlin lingered to have a word with Finna, curled on her couch with her old cat, Boots, who had deigned to honor them with his presence. Their conversation flowed quickly to Merlin's experience with Daegal.

  
“So you said yes?” Finna said of Daegal's invitation, pouring him a cup of coffee.

  
“I said yes.” Merlin tried not to let a note of smugness inviting a challenge enter his voice. He was mostly successful. He accepted the cup, after she dropped a sugar cube into it and handed it over.

  
“Was that wise?”

  
Merlin shrugged and sipped his coffee. “Do you think he's going to poison the drinks?”

  
Finna rolled her eyes and plunked herself into her chair. “It's your life, Merlin.”

  
Which everyone seemed to feel they had some right to analyze and comment on. In fact, Merlin was afraid at any moment Gwen and Finna would start a blog in which they'd take turns writing epic editorials about his life decisions, while Freya contributed the fanart and Gwaine commented on every post.

  
Finna sipped her coffee and then gestured with the cup. “How goes your work with Dr. Kilgarrah?”

  
“Slowly. He's advertising for couples who think they're experiencing the unumverumconjunx so as to collect more data. He's a bit put off I won't cough up the name of my alpha in the name of science for him to poke at us both.”

  
“The old dragon,” Finna muttered, “Have a care with that one, or he'll try to have you bonding in an operating theater hooked up to an EEG.”

  
While the mental picture was ludicrous and Merlin couldn't imagine a less romantic scenario in which to bond (were he inclined to bond at all) he had to admit the potential for data was fascinating. No one had yet taken such a scan while in the throes of an initial bonding. Bondmates had been scanned while having sex, but the actual deed, when the andophrengen Q cells were merging? What the brain was doing in that moment was a mystery Merlin would like to be in on cracking.

  
But for a few small hurdles.

  
“Don't worry, I'm not an exhibitionist,” Merlin promised.

  
“Tsk. I'd be tempted, if I had the right biology for it. A goldmine of data,” Finna said.

  
Merlin shook his head. “I don't know; if there's one thing I've learned from this it's that making yourself the subject of a study is not the wisest thing you could do.

  
“Indeed, the degree to which it will infringe on your life cannot be foreseen. As you are not just contributing data and departing, but lingering and analyzing, you cannot be impartial.” Finna was looking at him over the tops of her glasses.

  
Merlin set his cup down and slumped back into the couch to rub the bridge of his nose. “You're not just whistling Dixie.”

  
Finna hummed an affirmative. When their companionable quiet lasted longer than a few minutes, she set down her tea and picked up her big _Sexiest Librarians of the Year_ calendar and began to make notes in the boxes for upcoming months, referencing her date book. Merlin watched her bold hands circle and print while he toyed with his cup.

  
“On the other hand?” he said, and Finna's eyes flicked to him briefly. He shrugged. “Part of my job has always been having perfect strangers confide in me their most private data. How many people have I coaxed into talking about intimate topics, just so I could splash their confidential details in the pages of some journal for hundreds of nosy academics to read?”

  
Finna's eyes returned to her date book. “... And now the shoe is on the other foot?”

  
“I don't know. I guess it just feels like I owe it to all those people. Like chefs who have to eat their own cooking, or, I don't know, just, you know. Taste of my own medicine.”

  
“You must be careful, Merlin. You've never forced anyone to participate when they did not wish to. You're not indebted.” She was looking up at him again, this time with her mouth set in what Merlin thought of as her motherly pucker.

  
“No, not like that. But I do owe it to the community to divulge what I know. I kind of accidentally became a prime subject of study,” he countered.

  
“Still, have a care. While your integrity can be praised, devotion must have its limits; otherwise, what are we but worshipers of another cloth?”

  
“I'll resist the urge to sacrifice any goats,” Merlin said around a grin.

  
Finna sighed. “Or your privacy and dignity. You thought I was being facetious about Dr. Kilgarrah? I assure you, he can be most persuasive, and I doubt his 'I'm a harmless grandfather in pursuit of truth' routine has hurt his capacities to secure willing subjects. Despite what he says, he's not in it for the joy of discovery, he has his own agenda.” She'd removed her glasses and was looking at Merlin with far more concern than he thought the situation warranted.

  
“We all sort of do, don't we? I'm apparently a self-righteous crusader, and I'm pretty sure Kilgarrah has his eyes on immortality.” Merlin waggled a slice of zucchini bread he'd picked up from the tray at Finna. “How naive do you think I am? Next thing you know you'll be telling me I shouldn't take candy from those nice masked men in the van behind the Dairy Queen, either.”

  
Finna replaced her glasses. “If you don't want any advice I won't give it, but I am worried your attention is divided.”

  
“Between what?”

  
“Work. This study. Gwen's changing romantic status. And, it must be said avoiding your alpha at the same time you are experiencing the dull-grade biological demand for you to mate with zer.”

  
Merlin made a frustrated noise, but Finna cut him off. “You don't have to capitulate to it, but the fact that it must exist is not one that can be erased by force of will.”

  
Merlin considered sticking his tongue out at her, but it was true. He slumped a bit and crammed his mouth with zucchini bread.

 

  
ᴥ

 

  
 _Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._  
 _Subject: Le Fey, Morgana_

  
 _Sexugender./Physiogender: Theta/female_

  
_Orientation: Femsexual_

  
_Marital Status: Single_

  
_There was an old physician, a friend of my uncle's. He'd treated us from childhood; his were the few kind words we received, the only gentleness, the only care. My brother and I relied on him utterly as the one constant window to the affection that was possible between proper paternal relationships. But he was a doctor; he was busy. He came to see me, when my uncle knew, prescribed me some vitamins because the process of growing an alpha cock from nothing was so taxing._

  
_It seems like, after my uncle found out, I spent the next year at the doctor's. Getting examined, getting tested, probed, poked, interrogated – Allow me to tell you, there is nothing more demeaning, more heartbreaking, than lying on some padded bench naked, your new growing genitals on display while specialists stare at you with the hovering, unspoken imperative to change you, make you different, fix you, when, in fact, there was nothing wrong with you._

  
_My uncle was actually revolted by me. As if I'd done this on purpose. He was ashamed of me. And I was helpless. Utterly. My life had always been limited, but he was usually away, and sneaking out past whatever housekeeper was there to watch us was easy. After he knew? The house became a prison. Bars, security, escorts everywhere I went, all in some effort that no one would find out, or, worse, that I wouldn't dare think of acting on my urges._

  
_I started to feel ill, and things weren't right. By this time I was alone; my brother had been shipped to a very well-regarded boarding school before all this came about. It was just me and staff hired to treat me like a prisoner. And the old Doctor. He came to see me more and more often, handing out pills that never made me better. So, one night, after he'd seen me I followed him downstairs, and I listened to him speaking to my uncle. I'll never forget it. 'It's not going to work,' he said. 'the development was too far gone. She's going to gender theta'. And my uncle said 'it was all right, he'd made arrangements._

  
_This sweet old doctor, whom I trusted, who I thought was my friend, who promised to help me was feeding me counter-hormones. He was trying to retard my natural growth, trying to reverse it. He was trying to neuter me because he felt he and my uncle knew better. He thought he had the right to decide for me what I would be, to take away the gifts I was born with! Can you imagine anything more horrible? More disgusting? Such a violation of trust?_

  
_But it got worse._

 

  
ᴥ

 

  
“I hope you've all done your reading?”

  
There was a smattering of replies which totaled to a murmur that said 'possibly'.

  
“Right. Today we're going to talk about a topic which still has scholars mystified, and scientists divided on its mere existence. The _unumverumconjunx_. I know most of you have heard about this process via its device in movies, or how often the term is bandied about by teenagers who are in the throes of hormonal infatuation which has lasted for longer than fifteen consecutive minutes. “

  
The lecture hall tittered.

  
Merlin grinned. “However, as clichéd as the term has become, it belongs to a phenomenon some scientists really do believe exists.”

  
“The Greeks came up with the unwieldy moniker of _unumverumconjunx_. It breaks down very easily; _Unum_ , for one. _Verum_ from ver, meaning 'truth' and _conjunx_ , meaning 'mate' or 'spouse'. One-True-Mate. It's often shorted to _unverjunx_ , though more often 'soulmate' or 'truemate' are used because no one wants to say _unumverumconjunx_ over and over again, nor _unverjunx_.

“The Greeks were not the first to notice it, however. In East Asian folklore it was referred often, and in Japan it is known as _unmei no tanpopo-iro ito_ or, 'the dandelion colored string of fate'. It differs from _akai ito_ 'the Red String of Fate', in that the red string of fate refers to the interconnectedness of people by destiny, their fates bound by a red string. The red string can mean any kind of destiny, though it is always used for betas in regards to romantic fates. The _unmei no tanpopo-iro ito_ , the yellow string, is always romantic and always isolated to the bond between omegas and alphas. The color yellow is said to have been imported from the Chinese color culture; Yellow is a Yin-Yang balance, as omega symbolizes the passive moon yin, and the alpha the active sun, Yang.”

  
“Many mythologies and religions are sprinkled with truemates whose devotion surpasses all; Tristram and Iseult, Paris and Helen. But even before the Greeks, Isis was the omega sister-wife to her alpha brother-husband, Osiris, their love often thwarted by jealous beta Set. In the course of the myth Osiris is dismembered, and his beta sized penis is eaten by a fish. Yes. Penis fish chow. So, a saddened Isis made her husband a new penis out of gold, and since she was working from scratch, she made it the grandest, biggest penis of all. Thus, we have the origin of the alpha cock in Egyptian myth.

  
“The Aztecs told the story of Popocatépetl, an alpha warrior who met his truemate Itzaccíhuatl, an omega. Only her father didn't approve of the match, so he told Popocatépetl that if he was to be victorious fighting a certain battle, he could be bonded with Itzaccíhuatl. So off Popocatépetl goes, and after he's been gone a while Itzaccíhuatl's father tells her he has died in battle. Well, since the couple had not been allowed to bond, Itzaccíhuatl could not feel Popocatépetl's life energy to know this was untrue, so she dies of grief at the presumed loss of her truemate. Against all odds, Popocatépetl comes home victorious, only to find his truemate dead of sorrow. So Popocatépetl kills himself, unable to live without her. Don't be too sad though, because the gods, having witnessed their devotion and sorrow took pity on them and turned them into volcanos side by side.

  
“Not only in myth do we see this, but in history; John and Abigail Adams, Gertrude Stein and Alice Toklas, Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal, and Czar Nicholas Nicholas II and Alexandra Federovna to name a very few.”

  
Merlin pulled up a few of the pictures on his projector of the couples mentioned.

  
“Most documented cases of people claiming to be truemates speak of the depth of their bond. A standard bond, as you know, gives you a sense of the other person. It is like feeling them stand beside you. A truemate bond, however, is said to go beyond the mere presence of existence, into a kind of empathy. Alexander the Great and his second-in-command Hephaiston were said to be so successful because they could feel each other's emotions in a bond Aristotle called 'one soul abiding in two bodies'.

“However. The _unumverumconjunx_ cannot be proven, and though it has long been accepted as a folk-belief, discussed by philosophers, and has been self diagnosed, it still remains a fringe concept the validity of which many academics and doctors question. That it may come with a form of telepathy has not been proved by science, and occasionally still gets laughed at. Due to a rather small percentage of self proclaimed truemates who offer themselves for investigation, few assertions about them can be verified.

  
“The _unumverumconjunx_ describes both your truemate and the sensation which draws you to that mate. It occurs only with alphas and omegas, though mostly it is reported by omegas. It is described as a marked preference to mate with a specific individual, with whom the omega may or may not have pre-existing emotional connections. It is a biological draw that, in some extreme cases, disallows them from considering any other potential mates. When it reaches that degree, it is known as Psyche's Syndrome, a pathological inability to be physically intimate with anyone except the perceived truemate.”

  
And was this **ever** the voice of experience. Merlin was circling the classroom again, watching notes scrawled and doodles drawn as they listened.

  
“Being that this is an experience felt by omegas, it has been largely disregarded as a serious affliction for many years. It was written off as infatuation, parental defiance or as an aspect of hysteria. 'Omega silliness' was used, because, as you might imagine, the existence of the _unumverumconjunx_ rather got in the way of financial and political marriages. There are several cautionary tales like Itzaccíhuatl and Popocatépetl's from cultures around the world, which tell the story of an omega who would marry no one but zer truemate alpha. However zer parents ignore zer, sure that their child will grow to love their choice of a prospective alpha; and the whole thing usually ends with suicide, the omega preferring death to a life without zer truemate alpha. As ever, many people to create and carry these oral traditions are omegas.

  
“Interestingly, the Catholic church does recognize the _unumverumconjunx_ , and note it in the bible a number of places, most predominantly in the story of Jacob and Rachel. Though such couplings are known as _igneus maritare_ , or 'fiery marriages', the all-consuming passion of them seems to worry Mother Church, who vacillates on whether or not they think that all that zeal should belong only to God, or whether the pairing is specifically ordained and blessed by God. Though their rulings on such cases brought to them tend to fall into the camp of whatever was going to benefit the church, they have long invited omegas to seek refuge from marriage; if you cannot abide anyone but your truemate, the nunnery will always welcome you.

  
“Petitioning couples could aim for the sparingly distributed _relinquements_ from the Catholic church, which were granted only if the couple could prove their bond was greater than the already existent bond. The trick was to get to the church, petition and prove yourself before the jilted spouse could catch you. An annulment will nullify a marriage, as if it never was. A _relinquement_ allowed a couple to relinquish any previous marriages, while still acknowledging the previous marriages occurred, but to render them complete. Any offspring remain legitimate. Unlike divorce, there was no negative connotation, as the new union was seen as particularly blessed by God, and so there was no shame to the relinquished spouses.

  
Relinquished dependent omega spouses could return to their parents or could decide to remain the financial responsibility of their former alpha spouse until such time as they themselves remarried. A successfully petitioning alpha would have to surrender any chattel zer got in the dowry back to the omega's parents. A successful petitioning omega would forfeit their dowry, but also their children to be raised by the alpha.

  
A _relinquement_ was very risky business, however. Few petitioners were given audience, and even fewer were proved and granted because the church hated to dissolve previous marriages for the sake of an obsessive love they often felt verged on the territory of demonically-incited lust. Additionally, a main part of a _relinquement_ was to bond before church officials. If you failed to supersede a previous bond there was a stiff tithe, and you were more or less looking at a lifetime of tittering as well as a remainder of your life with a nearly jilted spouse. If you abandoned your spouse after a failed petition to live with your truemate, you were excommunicated.”

  
“Harsh,” one of the kids said.

  
Merlin chuckled. “Considering the Catholic church's stance on divorce, it's actually rather generous for them to have allowed this at all. For the most part, however, the Catholic and Christian church liked to stay out of the business of marriages and often hid behind a 'honoring thine parents' defense. These days most people simply divorce, as it grows less stigmatized.

  
“In many Asian cultures, a truemate omega was simply taken as a second wife or concubine.

  
“Ancient Hebrews differentiated various kinds of sex and bonding, each with their own term. The word for bonding while having sex in ancient Hebrew is _yada_ , translated as 'knowing'. Both in the sense of the carnal knowledge, and possibly the addition of the knowledge of the mate's life through the bond: Adam knows Eve. The word for bonding with a truemate is from _tavun_ , or 'understanding' which is translated as 'fathomed' in early English translations and more recently as 'recognized'. _Tavun_ is not used as often as _yada_ in the scriptures, and the specific word use paints a pretty interesting picture. Jacob _tavun_ , or, _recognizes_ Rachel, but he only _yada_ , or, _knows_ Leah. David _recognizes_ Jonathan, with a love above that shared with femegas.

  
“Gershom ben Judah, better known as Rabbi Gershom, was a famous scholar who lived in France in Metz. He originated Talmud studies. He was a legal force in the area, and issued a number of bans over his lifetime which were considered absolutely binding for the Ashkenazi Jews, the descendants of the Jewish people of the Holy Roman Empire and for centuries after. In the early 11th century, he delivered an edict which prevented an Ashkenazi Jewish alpha from divorcing zer omega spouse against the omega's will, or from taking a second omega mate, UNLESS the alpha was divorcing zer current omega spouse for zer truemate. If zer was abandoning a previous spouse for a truemate, ze either had to pay a large sum to the first omega or take the truemate as a second, inferior spouse. This edict was revised in the 15th century to only paying the money and divorcing, owing to pressure from prominent Jews in the face of religious friction. Many feared Christians would attack Jews at any excuse, and polygamy, as it became more uncommon among Christians, was a primary example.

  
“Hinduism is a religion which fully embraces the _unumverumconjunx_ , as it has many aspects of duality. The presence of the _unumverumconjunx_ between a pair are manifestations of counterparts which are seen in the mythology frequently. It struck across castes, which could be seen as striking fortuity or a backhanded compliment, and was generally considered a karmic reward. The ninth form of Hindu marriage, Devi Vivah, is the marriage between truemate omega and alpha, and may be in addition to any other wives an alpha may have.

  
“Buddhism, by contrast, has several ideas about truemating and the _unumverumconjunx_. The central tenet of Buddhism is, of course, the realization that there is no soul; there is consciousness, there is form, but no self, only experiences being processed. It is only through the understanding that you do not exist that you can achieve nirvana. Therefore, if you have no soul, you cannot have a soul-mate, so truemates are generally moved over into the sexuality department; a truemate would just be someone who inspires inordinate amounts of attraction. The empathetic aspects of the bond are in line with the Buddhist form of seeking compassion and empathy with all people. For a monk or nun to seek out a truemate or engage with them would only serve as a distraction from the pursuit of nirvana, but for a layperson it's tolerated. As you are seeking a better rebirth through various positive emotions, treating your truemate kindly would be beneficial, engendering feelings of compassion, and by your own contentedness you'd be kinder to others.

  
“And yet. There is a persistent and significant number, across all cultures, of recorded cases of specific pairs yearning to be together. Legally these tend to concern high class omegas and common alphas, as wellborn alphas often just took truemates as mistresses and avoided the legal fuss.

  
“A compelling section of evidence does exist in support of there being this thing called the _unumverumconjunx_. Among many of those documented claims, whenever a bonded omega has claimed that an alpha not zer spouse is their truemate, if allowed to complete the bond, a majority of the time, the new bond will break the established bond with a spouse. That is very difficult to do, as bonds, especially established bonds, do not break lightly. Another reason the Catholic Church did not like hearing _Relinquement_ Petitions, because most of the time they worked, and left a big mess.

  
“So, steps were taken. Within medieval marriages which involved the alpha heading off to the Crusades, or some other venture resulting in a significant absence, the alpha would often lock zer bonded omega in a chastity belt, just on the off chance ze would meet zer truemate. In fact, chastity devices were used persistently until the mid 1700s, when they were proven to be very unhygienic and useless against bonding bites.”

  
Merlin pulled up a collage of antique chastity belts and cages, which he mostly did to watch his class flinch and to give them an idea of the extent an alpha would go to hold on to what was theirs.

  
“Nowadays, people usually just get a divorce, citing Superseded Bond.”

  
He steepled his fingers and faced the rows of attentive faces. “But, is it real? What has the modern age and science told us about the _unumverumconjunx_?” he said, and let it hang for a moment.

  
“Bonded and married couples who claim to have experienced the _unumverumconjunx_ are the group most unlikely to divorce or break their bonds. When they part, it is through death, and in 90 per cent of the documented and researched cases over the years, the alpha and omega will die within 2-4 years of one another. They are a group least likely to commit adultery and most likely to be sexually satisfied with their partners.”

  
Merlin carried on. “With the advent of brain imaging technology, we can actually scan these pairs, and see how their minds respond to each other, and their scans tend to show much activity in the brain which we connect with romantic, enduring love. They are more in tune to each other than other couples, and their bonds often prove unbreakable, even enduring despite chemical debonders.

  
“We know that bonded couples who claim to have experienced the _unumverumconjunx_ almost universally possess dissimilar Human Leukocyte Antigen alleles. HLAs refer to a system of genes found on chromosome 6 in your DNA, which help the body distinguish between its own proteins and alien proteins invading the body, such as those of bacteria and viruses. What does this mean, two truemates with highly different HLA alleles? Well, according to psychologist Christine Garver-Apgar at the University of New Mexico and her studies, the more HLA alleles a breeder has in common with a stud, the less likely the breeder will be sexually responsive to the stud, and the more likely the breeder will be attracted to and have affairs with studs with more dissimilar HLA alleles, particularly when in estrus. Why? Well, it makes good biological sense. Two people with different immune systems strengths will be more likely to pass on these alleles to their children, therefore creating strong offspring.”

  
Merlin headed to the front of the room and eased himself onto the table. “However, currently we lack the tools to really explore how some bonds can be broken and others cannot, or to probe how this partiality to a specific partner works or to measure compatibility. But, more importantly, it is next to impossible to research the magic in the moment of first experiencing the _unumverumconjunx_ because you cannot predict when or where or to whom it will happen. It's been described as 'magic' as 'an utter slowing of time', as 'the first true belonging ever felt'. In Shakespeare's _The Tempest_ Fernando describes it as 'Hear my soul speak. The very instant that I saw you did/ My heart fly to your service, there resides/ To make me slave to it, and for your sake'.” Or like immediate bone-melting lust, but Merlin didn't want to confess that out loud for some reason. Most writers expressed it with such flowery language, and while there had been a spiritual component, Merlin only really fully absorbed it after he was done being alarmed and lust addled.

  
“It has been likened to the true recognition of your equal heart's desire in the shape of another, and is referred to as one of the most impactful moments of self proclaimed truemates' lives. Whether they were searching or not, they were intended in every way possible, in a draw many had no desire to resist. A moment where, without words, they simply knew they belonged to one another.”

 

The questions that followed were plentiful and detailed, and Merlin even lingered after the allotted period was over, discussing with a few determined souls, Mordred among them. Eventually, though, the next professor who was going to use the room arrived and they had to clear out. Merlin packed up and returned to his office.

  
He found Alice sitting at the corner table, though rather than marking the pile of papers sitting before her, she was simply twirling her pen and staring out the teeny window Merlin's status afforded him. She didn't seem to notice him as he entered and set his bag down, her mouth set in a moue of disquiet.

  
Merlin had to say her name twice before she started. “Oh, professor. I didn't hear you.”

  
She looked down at the papers once more, smoothing the stapled pages of the current assignment back so she could start over from the beginning.

  
Merlin lowered into his chair and began to set up his laptop. “Is everything all right?”

  
“Yes” Alice said. Then she frowned.“...No.” She turned to face him. “It's my brother, Edward.”

  
Merlin wracked his brain to remember what might have been said about Edward. Alpha. A sophmore at Albion. Pre-med, if he wasn't mistaken. Merlin nodded and gestured her to continue.

  
“He's been … odd,” Alice said, her brow puckered.

  
Merlin smiled. “Young alphas sometimes are.” With new and potent alphamones running through their blood, a whole host of confusing and forceful instincts now coloring their interaction with the world, not to mention their canines coming in, was it any wonder that an alpha still transitioning from childhood would be a bit of a mess? Honestly, malphas didn't truly stop maturing until they were in their early twenties, the intervening years with the potential for being a bit of a disaster.

  
This time Alice shook her head. “This is different. He's changed.”

  
“Sometimes it happens. People who have been perfectly close their whole lives change as they age and as they present. They can grow together or they can grow apart. It doesn't mean your brother loves you any less,” Merlin said.

  
“No, it isn't that. He's grown furtive. He's canceled Saturday baseball for a month now, he hasn't been home, and he's fidgety.” Alice took a deep breath, caught Merlin's eyes and said ruefully. “I think it might be drugs.”

  
Merlin gave pause. Well, that could also explain erratic behavior.

  
“He's always been sensible, though, and far too good. I know those are the kinds of people who sometimes develop problems,” Alice said. She rose in a fluid gesture and went to her book bag. After a moment's rifling at an inner pouch, she brought over a plastic baggie with a single pink pill in it.

  
Merlin cast her a questioning glance. Alice shrugged. “I broke into his dorm room.”

  
Merlin felt his brows rise, despite his best efforts to remain neutral. Well.

  
“He had a medicine bottle full of those, but there was no prescription label on it, and I know he hasn't been diagnosed with anything. I thought maybe you could tell me what it was, as I don't have any experience with drugs to identify it.”

  
Merlin fondled the pill through the film of plastic. It was oblong, somewhat chalky looking with nothing stamped in the side. He'd seen enough E tablets and Oxycontin over the years to doubt the identity of the pill as either of those two likely candidates. It looked more like a vitamin, except for the color, and the unmarked bottle.

  
“I'm afraid I can't,” he said.

  
Alice's shoulders slumped. “I wanted to be able to tell him I knew, and get him the right help.”

  
Merlin shook his head. “You didn't let me finish. I can't identify this on sight, but I have a chemist friend who could be discreet and can probably run some tests and find out, if you feel comfortable letting me keep this?” He held up the bag.

  
Alice looked at him a long moment, and he could see her weighing and measuring, the precise analytical consideration among the strongest reasons he wanted her for his TA. She was already using the skills he was teaching her in her various psychology courses, using them to decide what she'd do. At length she nodded.

  
“Thank you, Professor.” Alice had barely finished speaking when there was a rap on the door.

  
Merlin hastily tucked the pill into his desk before calling for the knocker to enter. He and Alice exchanged a nod, which he hoped she knew was a promise of discretion.

  
The office door opened and presented Mordred.

  
“Ah, Mordred. Come in,” Merlin beckoned.

  
Mordred glanced between Merlin and Alice. “I'm not interrupting, am I?”

  
“No,” Alice said sweetly. “I'll just go set up the projector for your next class, Professor.”

  
Even after Alice closed the door behind her, Mordred remained lingering by the threshold, clearly unsure of himself. Since he'd remained late in class, he'd likely spent the since lapsed twenty minutes in a similar state of indecision.

  
“How can I help you, today?” Merlin invited, since it seemed to be his day for counseling youth. He knew a lot of Professors discouraged having anything to do with students, their personal loads meaning that they let their TAs teach some of their introductory courses.

  
“The lecture today, on the _unumverumconjunx_. If it is true that scientists still don't know much about it, does that mean there are people studying it?” Mordred asked slowly, carefully, fingers pressed into the straps of his backpack.

  
“Absolutely,” Merlin said.

  
“Including how omegas seem to know before alphas?”

  
“Yes, that and everything about the _unverjunx_. What it is, how it is sensed, why, what purpose it serves. There are a lot of questions.”

  
Mordred fidgeted.

  
“Mordred, if there's something you want to talk about, I will keep it in the strictest confidence.” Merlin gestured for Mordred to take the chair opposite his desk.

  
Mordred eyed the chair, then Merlin, shifting his weight back and forth, fingers flexing on the strap of his backpack continuously. At length he squared his shoulders and then sat, sliding the pack on the floor beside his chair. He looked at Merlin, eyes intense and Merlin was suddenly struck by their resemblance. How easy it would be to imagine speaking to a younger version of himself.

  
“It's the studies. Do you know of one?” Mordred asked.

  
“As it happens, I'm conducting one with a colleague,” Merlin said with a dip of the head.

  
Mordred leaned forward eagerly, “You are?”

  
“Yes. It's an interesting phenomenon I would like to learn more about.”

  
Merlin waited while Mordred absorbed this. He'd stopped fidgeting, fingers pressed to his thighs now as his expression became less wary, more considering. An internal debate likely afoot, and Merlin busied his own hands with an absent sorting of a pile of paperwork.

  
“The thing is ...” Mordred began. “You've changed me, Professor. I've learned so much in your class, more than I ever expected to. I'm supposed to be pre-law; I took your class for the credit and then it changed me. Made me think differently, it made me question all the things I was brought up to believe.”

  
It made the inner part of Merlin who really did want to inspire kids out of their lethargic disinterest give a little cheer. A bright spot in months of feeling wrong-footed. It was good to know he was doing something right.

  
“Thank you,” Merlin said.

  
“I want to study people now. I've switched to a psychology major. I haven't, you know, told anyone at home, but … I'm … It's hard. My father's old-fashioned.” Mordred lifted a hand, curled it across his chest to grip the opposite bicep as he continued. “He wanted alphas. All his brothers are alphas and had alpha children, and I'm an only child.”

  
Merlin wanted to reach out and touch the protective posture, but he had to settle with speaking his encouragement. “Being a beta is nothing to be ashamed of, Mordred.”

  
Mordred's fingers clutched into his arm and then he said bluntly. “But, I'm not. I'm omega.”

  
It gave Merlin a moment of surprise, but clearly from the set of Mordred's jaw, he expected a fuss. Mordred expected that this would be an amazing revelation, instead of something that only changed him marginally. Merlin refused to let it astound him, though he did lean forward and take a purposeful sniff, and sure enough there was the soft curl of omega around Mordred. Honestly, Merlin hadn't noticed, but then he didn't make a habit of sniffing the students.

  
He wouldn't let it change his attitude though. After all, it only made them more similar, didn't it? Both mock-blockers, even if Mordred was doing a better job at the whole 'honesty' thing.

  
Mordred waited for the shock and awe and when none came, he gave a quivery smile and let out a shuddery sigh.

  
“I've never said that out loud,” he confessed, arm unbanding from around his chest.

  
“Congratulations,” Merlin said with a smile.

  
Mordred returned the smile, but he visibly swallowed, and then wiped his palms on his jeans. “I stopped taking my blockers in February. I saw that I didn't have anything to be ashamed of being what I am. I've always felt like – I didn't come to talk about that.”

  
“I'm here to listen to anything you want to tell me.”

  
“No. The point is, I went off my suppressants. I've been dating, I've been sexually active since going off the blockers and before. But, this semester I went to my English class and there was this alpha there. I've never smelled anything like her. She hasn't either, I mean, smelled anything like me. We just smelled each other and it was like magic. Not like anything else, but more than that I just, I ...” Merlin watched the smile creep over Mordred's features as he spoke of the alpha, warmed and pleased by the memories. Something clutched in Merlin's chest.

  
Mordred continued. “I just knew. It's like you described. I think it's the _unverjunx_ , I really do, professor. I know people at my age have a tendency towards hyperbole, but honestly, this is different.”

  
“I'm pleased for you, if you think you've discovered something so special.”

  
Mordred's expression turned earnest. “The thing is, if it is? It ought to be studied. We haven't done anything, but, we're willing, Professor, if you'd like to examine us.”

  
Merlin's heart shuddered in excitement, but he remained calm. “That's the thing about studying the _unumverumconjunx_ , Mordred. It's hard to identify, and no one has ever studied it from its inception. If you allow yourself and your truemate to be studied by me and my colleague, you'd be one of the first. But it means you'll be documented, tested, and have to undergo a lot of invasive questioning and in the end it will be published. Even if your names are omitted, your most private business will be in the public's reach.”

  
“I know,” Mordred said, nodding. “But, like I said. It's important. We should know more about it, to help others who have it.”  
Ask, and ye shall receive.

  
Still. No matter how eager, and how much Merlin valued the resource, he didn't want Mordred to make a decision he would regret. That would be the worst, to color this aspect of his life while it was still in its infancy, and he didn't have time just now to go into it. So, with a tentatively festive heart he scheduled a serious appointment with Mordred and Kara and Kilgarrah, and dashed off to class.

 

  
ᴥ

 

  
Merlin had arranged with Daegal via text to meet at a coffee shop downtown called The Witches Brew the following Sunday. Merlin went early so as to scope out the joint, because he knew if he didn't the only parking place he'd be able to find would be eight blocks away (Irony Gods, again). As it was, he was already situated in an overstuffed chair, sipping something pumpkin spice flavored, when Daegal blew in, pink cheeked with the cold.

  
“Merlin!” he smiled, removing his overcoat to toss on the chair across from Merlin.

  
Merlin saluted him with his cup.

  
Daegal got tea and a muffin and sat.

  
They talked about gender politics in the workplace at first, picking up the threads of their earlier conversations at the studio, expanding on them now the ears of the crew were not near.

  
“No more work,” Daegal proclaimed by the time he'd eaten his muffin. “I want to get to know more about you than your academic side. What about pets?”

  
Merlin shook his head. “I'd forget to feed them when I was knee-deep in research. You?”

  
“No. Never home. Well, I'm home some. I'm not a work-a-holic or anything,” Daegal hastened to correct himself. It reminded Merlin of Gwen.

  
In fact, Merlin really did like Daegal. He was bright and sincere, not artificial as Merlin imagined most television personalities to be. Granted, not a big time star, but Merlin presumed there still needed to be a modicum of shmoozing to thrust one's foot through the door.

  
But, did he _like_ -like Daegal? It was a question which whirled 'round and 'round Merlin's head while they sat and chatted. If not instant zinging sexual attraction, could he learn to love Daegal?

  
If he put a lot of effort into it, he didn't see why not. Daegal was progressive, witty and committed. Who was to say an unverjunx had to be obeyed? Merlin had a body and a will of his own. Maybe if, instead of a one-off or a flirty friendship, maybe if he really focused on feeling romantically for Daegal … maybe then he could break this hideous thing with Arthur. Just because no one had ever wanted to do it didn't mean it couldn't be done.

  
Daegal was another omega, after all. He knew what it was like to fight for a career. In addition to understanding Merlin's need to maintain his professional life, it also could be said he was less threatening. The childbearing responsibilities did not solely lie with Merlin.

  
And, he'd never tried with an omega. Maybe the change was exactly what he needed. Cock was cock, right? No knot, but there were toys for that.

  
The coffee date was nice, and Merlin was resolved. When it ended they made arrangements to meet again, expressing mutual enthusiasm.

  
Over the next few weeks Merlin met Daegal for a handful of dates. They were both busy, so finding the proper timing didn't always lend itself to frequency. They grabbed coffee, dinner, and even managed a movie. It was slow going, but then, Daegal seemed contented with that. When Merlin waited until date number three before even kissing, Daegal had only quirked a smile and said “For such a progressive guy, you're kind of sweetly old-fashioned,” and seemed to accept it as a personal foible, though he'd made no secret of his desires.

  
It was enough, for now.

 

ᴥ

 

  
 _Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

  
 _Subject: Le Fey, Morgana_

  
_Sexugender./Physiogender: Theta/female_

  
_Orientation: Femsexual_

  
_Marital Status: Single_

  
_I couldn't trust anyone then, I realized. My specialists all answered to my uncle, my childhood doctor thought he knew what was best for me, that I couldn't handle myself. Not even my cousin -- who I knew would run to his father, as if tattling was going to buy him some pathetic scrap of love. I'd been orphaned in every way possible, just as I'd feared. Worse, maybe. An orphan has no one who cares. My uncle did care. In all the wrong ways, but he cared. He thought I was a perversion of nature; not alpha, not omega, not beta. Some kind of deformed monster combination. But rather than seeing me as simply damaged collateral to be discarded, it was like he thought I needed to be saved. Like the force of his will was going to rescue me from what he thought was some hideous fate. Like being different was the worst thing he could imagine. He would talk about liberating me from my grotesque body, and when my body was set to rights I'd stop having those 'urges' involving other females. When I was 'fixed' I'd stop behaving in such a 'disrespectful, shrewish manner'. When I was fixed he could get me a good husband._

_He was a zealot, and by the time I knew the truth about the pills I knew there was no line he wouldn't cross. Nothing he wouldn't do to ensure his will dominated me completely. He wanted me to be this perfect little robot._

  
_He went to a function not long after. I had to find out what the 'arrangements' he referred to were. So. I stole his laptop. I also had a lot of friends in school, from the days I'd tried to be anywhere but home, and some of those friends had talents. I arranged for one to come to my house. I wasn’t allowed guests by then, so I had to lower the laptop down to her out of a bathroom window with the cords from some drapes. She hacked my uncle's email, sent the laptop back up to me and there it was._

  
_I was crouched on the floor of the bathroom while I read correspondence with a clinic in South America. He was finalizing some ten thousand dollar deal to remove my cock and testes, for trans-treatment to make me more an omega._  
 _He was going to amputate me._

  
_I vomited. Even a prisoner in the house, tricked into taking hormones I'd had some secret, tiny hope, that maybe, maybe – but I was fooling myself. I might have broken down, I think, only I was so protective of my stupid shriveled genitals. I hadn't even fully become myself, and they were going to change me because he could, because what I was didn't fit in with that he wanted me to be._

 

  
ᴥ

 

  
Mordred's proclaimed truemate was a sweet-faced femalpha with anti-eyebrow piercings with black barbells, and a very modest sense of fashion. Her name was Kara and she was a Political Science major. She and Mordred arrived together, holding hands. Despite the implied romance of the topic, however, both were composed and serious about participating in Merlin and Kilgarrah's study.

  
Merlin was careful to go over all the paperwork with them, highlighting that it was going to be invasive, names redacted but their experiences published, and that they could refuse anything at any time. He went over the tests they planned to put the pair through. Apparently they'd already discussed this at length, and were willing to undergo whatever processes would provide fruitful data.

  
Not, however, actually bonding. At least, not yet. Mordred had been candid about that. If they changed their minds they'd inform Merlin, but they were, after all, only nineteen. Engagement, certainly, as a way to tie themselves together, maybe marriage, but bonding to one another was serious, adult and not to be taken lightly.

  
“We have time,” Kara had said calmly. “I don't think we should be trying to manage a fresh bond while we should be focused on our studies.”

  
Kilgarrah was irritated. Merlin was proud of them. People talked up the mystic joy of bonds, but the truth was it could be very hard to adapt to the presence of someone else inside your head. Once accustomed to, it became easy to overlook as it became a simple part of day to day function, the pleasant connectedness. However, like many skills, there was some pain in the mastering of it. Until a mind was sufficiently calloused to the niggling sensation of another life tethered to it, it could be distracting, invasive and distressing.

  
By putting off their bonding until a later time they showed how level-headed they were being about the entire process, though in a rather lovelorn manner. They still were caught in several amorous embraces when left alone for a few moments.

  
They did agree, however, and signed the various papers which turned them into vital research subjects.

  
Over the next few weeks Merlin saw them frequently. He found them both to be quite articulate when he sat them down for their independent interviews. They pondered the questions, and gave in-depth answers for things ranging from questions about upbringing to describing current sensations.

  
Kara and Mordred gave blood and saliva repeatedly for the many tests and panels Kilgarrah ran, going further and running tests on DNA Merlin didn't understand.

  
They also repeated the Scent-Test Merlin had undergone with the MRI. Since both of them had been sexually active prior to meeting each other, this gave a new dimension to the test. Banks of possible scents were personalized. Atop contributions from people the two had already had sexual contact with, they included the scents of strange alphas in rut and omegas in heat, and subjects with similar HLA's and blood types to the chosen partners, to see if a genetic similarity to a truemate could garner the same response.

  
When the results were in, and they examined the brain scans Merlin saw a familiar pattern of activity. Kara and Mordred's brains ignored the past relationships, the similar genetic make-ups, the other fertile subjects. Only for each other's smell did their brains light up in that same mix of pleasure and long term attachment.

  
“I think we're on to something,” Merlin said, while they sat surrounded by the files in mid-October. “I couldn't explain it, but there is something here.”

  
Kilgarrah rumbled a response, eyeing a sheet with one of the various blood work-ups on it.

  
“Specific neural activity, increasing presence of andophrengen Q cells and other assorted bonding hormones. We've got that mutual masturbation EEG scheduled, but I'll bet we'll see increased production of oxyarmonin and brain patterns in confluence,” Merlin said, flipping through pages. It was exciting, he couldn't help it. It was easier now it wasn't strictly his own biology that was being discussed.

  
“We are in need of more data,” Kilgarrah said. He dropped the paper back into place in the file he held, then got Aithusa's attention to sign something to her. She nodded and headed upstairs.

  
“To do that we need some money,” Merlin sighed, and set the file he'd been flicking through as well.

  
Kilgarrah made a sound low in his throat. He folded his hands over his stomach, then leaned back, chair creaking. “Or a secondary partner set.”

  
“No.” Merlin didn't even look up from the loads of historical data he'd been compiling. There had been some studies started over the years, but many of them had been small, and funding thin. It seemed that while the idea of truemates was appealing and worthy of fiction, no one could seem to figure out a way to really profit off of it, so no one was willing to fund expansive exploration into the topic.

  
“Two sets of partners showing similar data would prove a powerful incitement for further examination.” Kilgarrah said.

  
“Yes, true, but I am not dragging my personal life out as a lure for money.” Merlin closed the file and picked up another one.

  
“Young scientist, I do not know why you chose to be so troublesome as this! You cannot think you are going to deny yourself indefinitely,”

  
“Can't I?”

  
“You are two sides of the same coin, you and your alpha.”

  
Merlin slammed this file folder shut and caught the old man in a sharp glare. “I'm pretty much sick of people telling me what I **_am_** going to do, what I **should** do, what I **ought** to do. It's my life, it's my choice, and I think the worst reason I could have to mate with someone is because it makes good career sense. The answer is no, Kilgarrah. Now don't bring it up again.”  
Kilgarrah sighed windily, and picked his spectacles off his nose for a polish.

 

ᴥ

 

  
As Merlin had predicted, the addition of Lance into Gwen's life meant an integration of friends and family too. Gwen had met a number of Lance's friends and his mother on her trips to the city, and when Lance came down for the weekends, Merlin saw him fairly often. He knew Gwen had taken Lance to meet her father. It had gone well, and with family approval to be had all around, both were revoltingly perky about one another, as if there had been some impediment beforehand. Now there was nothing stopping them from making people around them want to vomit full time, instead of just at random intervals.

  
Gwen was up front about her Halloween party being for both sets of friends to mingle. And not just any friends, but youngish ones. He didn't dare comment on the party either, because he suspected he'd get a response about how his issues were his own, and she wasn't going to let them get in the way of her life.

  
And she was right, really.

  
For the week preceding the party, though, Merlin and Freya were conscripted into helping. Actually, Freya was nominated as prep crew, and Gwen was a little vague with Merlin since Arthur had already positively RSVPed. He went to help anyway, since it was his issue and shouldn’t spill onto Gwen. So while Freya made decorations, Merlin got down the Halloween boxes from the garage, moved furniture, and climbed stepladders to hang things. In the kitchen he was put to measuring out, chopping and assembling and snitching the fruits of Gwen's prodigious culinary labors. He got hit with her wooden spoon a few times, but generally speaking, it was worth it. There were green deviled eggs with black olives cut like spiders on them, rolls shaped like fingers, and pumpkin-shaped molded dips, among other cutely gross foodstuffs, atop about a hundred fastidiously-decorated cake pops. The centerpiece involved a watermelon Freya had carved to look like a brain, though there was also an ornate themed cake.

  
He was at Gwen's early on Halloween, as he'd given his students a break and canceled his late afternoon lecture. He hung up some last minutes items -- strands of purple lights, cottony spider webs, glow in the dark skeletons – and switched out some lightbulbs in favor of blacklights.

  
Gwen had decided to throw a Switch party. The appeal of dressing up in opposites had apparently not yet abated; whatever style of dress you most usually adopted, you switched it. Since Merlin was usually to be found in trousers, Gwen took great delight in pointing out he had some kind of obligation to wear a skirt. This was, of course, bullshit, since in a Switch party it was also appropriate to dress up as a character of the opposite gender as well. Merlin was pretty sure the Switch party was a ploy to get most of the men in skirts, but he didn't dare accuse Gwen directly. Nor did he want to incur her wrath, considering that, from a certain perspective, Gwen cradled his tender vulnerable testicles in her palm. Giving her cause to squash them was not on Merlin's agenda. Not that he thought she would, really, but he did want to spare himself a few muttered comments.

  
With this wisdom in mind, Merlin had chosen to go as Lady Batman, selecting a larger size than he needed to be sure the skirt hung lower than the strumpet on the package advertised. Gwen had been nice enough to take it in a little so it didn't look quite so much like a Batman-themed potato sack.

  
When the food was laid and the house looking festive, Merlin found himself being pounced upon. He was dragged into the bedroom where Gwen and Freya began to brandish horrible weapons of the cosmetic variety. That he was going to be wearing a mask as part of his Lady Batman costume which would cover most of his face seemed to be irrelevant. It was patiently explained to him that Batman blacked out his eyes even though he wore his mask; Lady Bat simply could not be her dark knighted self without a good smoky eye and some lipstick. He put his foot down at the lipstick, but since Gwen was going to be dressed up as a gorilla and Freya as alpha Jedi Adi Gallia, he ceded to their single opportunity to make someone pretty. It was a lost cause, and his mask would cover it anyway.

  
Arrivals began around eight o'clock.

  
Daegal arrived a few minutes after Lance. Daegal's Robin outfit was made of the same shiny polyester as Merlin's femmie Batman, only in green and yellow, and thus was much more lurid. In addition Daegal had gone for Burt Ward era Robin with tiny green short-shorts and tights.

  
Daegal greeted Merlin with a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, Batman.”

  
“Robin,” Merlin smiled.

  
“You guys are too cute,” Gwen said, but it was only through a long friendship that Merlin could see that her smile was a little thin. But she was pressing with her enthusiasm to be happy and welcoming, even if she also had reservations about them as a couple.

  
“Hello, Gwen, you're looking hirsute,” Daegal complimented.

  
Her laugh was real, though. She made fists, stamped her feet while growling, and then pounded on her black rubber gorilla chest-plate. Lance rounded the corner from the kitchen at this. As soon as he'd arrived he'd changed into a slinky thirties-gown falling off one shoulder and a blond wig, the Fae Wray to Gwen's King Kong. Upon witnessing her display he cringed dramatically at her primate majesty.

  
By eight thirty the guests began to arrive full steam in between the late trick-or-treaters, most of which were teenagers in the lazy hoodie-and-rubber-mask combinations. There were people from Gwen's clinic and Lance's office, other faces from the campus, and a couple of assorted friends Merlin had met at other such gatherings. From Lance's there were some friends on his soccer team and a variety of other places. Like Gwen, basically everywhere he went he made friends, so in no time at all the house was bursting with lively people getting to know one another. The hour and a half drive from the city spoke at how committed they were to their friendship.

  
Sophia was among the arrivals. She'd been in town and caught wind of the party via Freya, and it had necessitated an invitation. Or, one had been wheedled out.

  
She was dressed as a slutty Scooby-Doo, her teeny briefs attached to the bikini top by a narrow band of the brown fabric with the appropriate spots printed on it and outrageous stylized eye make-up with brown feathers glued to her eyelashes. The look was completed with a pair of ears on a headband and a blue collar.

  
Merlin had the misfortune of opening the door for her, as he'd volunteered for door duty, be it guests or trick-or-treaters. The moment the door opened, her wide smile melted away into an expression of distaste before she apparently remembered some form of manners. She managed to engage in a strained polite exchange before disappearing into the house. Gwaine arrived too, done up like a sexy lab assistant, lab coat, short skirt, prim bun, fake glasses and, more pointedly, a couple of balloons stuck down his shirt to give him some appalling cleavage. He quickly began hitting on a Captain Jack Sparrow by the punch bowl, whom he audibly invited to fondle his balloon hooters.

  
There was music going, and a range of creative themed cocktails were passed out, which Gwen had raided from the vaults of Martha Stewart. As most of the guests had arrived, Gwen taped pre-written cards for a game of 'Who Am I' to people's backs so while they were milling around they had an automatic topic of conversation.

  
Gwen and Lance side by side were the perfect hosts. They floated from group to group, conversing, and introducing each other, hand in hand. They made a handsome couple, warm and kind looking and they played off one another well, leaving smiles in their wake.

  
Merlin was dismissed from door duty eventually. He was both relieved and rueful. It had given him a job, activity, dispensing candy and congratulating kids on their costumes, or passing a few words with new guests. On the other hand, every time he opened the door he was ready for it to be Arthur. Exchanging emails with him was one thing. Being face to face was another. He was beginning to rethink attending the party, finding himself with little humor for it. Then again, honestly, he hadn't been feeling really upbeat in a while. Too many cares heavy on his shoulders.

  
With Daegal's hand on his lower back, they mingled. He'd thus far worked out his card was a woman from literature, and introduced Daegal to about a half dozen people when Arthur arrived. Merlin felt it sing through his limbs, and he couldn't help but cast a look at the doorway, where Lance cheerfully greeted his slightly tardy friends.

  
Arthur was poured into the bright yellow jumpsuit worn by The Bride from the Kill Bill movies. It was probably not indecent actually, but they way it hugged and cupped all the best bits of Arthur seemed lewd. He hadn't added a wig or make up, just the jumpsuit, yellow sneakers, and a katana strapped to his hip. He strode in with such bearing and confidence Merlin could see the whole room tuning into him. Slightly behind Arthur was a man with curling strawberry blond hair dressed in a Starfleet uniform in command red. Lance greeted him with equal fervor.

  
The Starfleet officer was Leon Young, whom Lance made a point of pulling over to introduce to Merlin, while Arthur did his best impression of a Scooby Snack.

  
“I've heard a great deal about you, Merlin,” Leon said, smiling warmly. He had a strong handshake.

  
“And me, about you. Lance likes to boast about his friends, doesn't he?” Merlin responded. It was true. He had heard about Leon from both Arthur and Lance. He worked with Arthur, but in a legal department of Allied Draconem Corporation and they'd been friends since college. From the sound of things, Leon was the collected, organized and orderly friend to Arthur's brazen tenacity and Lance's agreeable gentility.

  
“Yes, but, mostly I've heard about you from Arthur,” Leon said.

  
“Oh?” That made Merlin stumble mentally. “From Arthur?”

  
“It seems your 'utter inability to behave like a proper beta' drives him a bit mad, even as it fascinates him,” Leon reported, and there was a grin lurking behind his unshaven scruff, unwilling to fully reveal itself.

  
Merlin snorted, but beside him Daegal laughed out loud and slung an arm around Merlin's waist, fingers curling at his hip.  
“Merlin's clever little mind bending Mr. Pendragon's, is it?” Daegal asked, ripe with humor.

  
Suddenly Merlin's vision swam with yellow jumpsuit. “Here, Leon,” Arthur said, just a bit gruffly while thrusting a cocktail into Leon's hands. “Occupy your mouth.”

  
Arthur then nodded at Merlin. “Merlin.”

  
“Arthur. This is Daegal Stewart.” He gestured beside him, all too aware of how Daegal was draped over him, pressed together in their shining synthetic superhero costumes.

  
Arthur's eyes flicked up and down them both, halting at the polyester green gloved hand offered to him. It took a moment, but he reached out to shake.

  
“Well, it's a pleasure to meet you,” Daegal said with a warm interest. While Daegal was warm and polite to most people, Merlin could just hear the subtle shift to a tone of professionally-motivated conviviality. If such a thing could be had, both of them dressed up as they were.

  
“Mutual,” Arthur said, and Merlin wanted to kick him for the wariness in his tones. He knew Arthur had a press personality, and he didn't want to see it, but nor did he want to hear open caution.

  
Merlin hastened to cut in. “Well, I should ask you some questions, for the game. The rule is, you can ask someone questions until they say no, then you have to move on to someone else.” He presented his back to Leon and Arthur long enough for them to read his name.

  
When he turned back Leon had raised eyebrows and Arthur looked amused. Daegal looked thoughtful, and tossed back his drink.

  
“Right, so …am I fictional?”

  
From Leon, Merlin got his was a fictional romantic figure. From Arthur, he got that he was not a Jane Austen character. They chatted, and Merlin and Daegal answered questions for Arthur and Leon. Leon had Abraham Lincoln, and Arthur had Benedick of Padua from Shakespeare's _Much Ado About Nothing_. They in turn obliged Daegal with his Inspector Gadget.

  
Once questions were answered, and the small talk exchanged, Arthur made an excuse and they moved on to another group of revelers. Merlin pulled Daegal to the refreshment table, where they piled post-consumer recycled plates with Gwen's delicious party food and snagged the unoccupied armchair shoved in the corner. Merlin sat in the chair, Daegal perched on the arm. They ate and watched while, having deemed her guests sufficiently lubricated, Gwen arranged some kind of relay with willing guests, involving passing oranges with jack o'lantern faces drawn on them down lines of people but using any part of their body except their hands.

  
“You didn't tell me you knew Arthur Pendragon,” Daegal said, watching Arthur while he munched on a carrot stick. Arthur and his friend, Leon, were talking to a group of people. Suddenly one of them gave a cheer and peeled her stick-on note from her back.

  
“It's sort of a happenstance of comedic proportions, really,” Merlin poked Daegal with an elbow. “Planning on asking him on your show?”

  
“Seeing as I'm warming a few of your very professional friends to make appearances to speak in their fields, it wouldn't be too blatant,” Daegal said. He turned back to Merlin, eyes intent behind his black mask. “But if you don't want me to, I won't.”

  
Merlin poked at his deviled egg. “Give it a little time? He's just starting to feel comfortable with us. I don't want him to think anyone is taking advantage.”

  
Daegal hummed an answer, looking back over the crowd as they laughingly lined up, and then after a countdown began passing the orange on. Merlin poked at his food, mostly thinking about how the borrowed high heeled black boots were killing him. No way would Lady Batman subject herself to this level of orthopedic distress. And then thinking about how this was not the proper mood for a party. He would have had another drink, but the thought of alcohol lowering his inhibitions made him nervous. He was a handsy drunk.

  
“He seems nice, Lance,” Daegal said. “Lawyer, you said?”

  
“Yeah. He does something with water pollution.”

  
“Preventing it, one assumes?”

 

  
“Yeah. My overall image is that you make almost no money doing the right thing against massive corporations who get lenient punishments on massive infractions.” Merlin reported.

  
Daegal raised his glass. “All hail the mighty capitalist machine.” He sipped. “Still. Makes it a bit odd, him being friends with Arthur Pendragon.”

  
Merlin shrugged. “Childhood friends.”

  
“But most people grow up, grow apart from their friends. Especially if you're going to work for the other side. I'm not sure I could stay friends with someone who went into censorship.”

  
Merlin frowned. “I don't think it's like that.”

  
“Arthur's in business. That is, in the business of turning a tidy profit to keep up with funding his father's political ambitions. He's in business, Lance is in preservation. Never the twain shall meet, no matter how green ADC brags about being.” Daegal watched as the party-goers transitioned into dancing to Don't Fear the Reaper. Lance pulled Gwen into a surprisingly graceful sway, considering one of them was dressed as a gorilla.

  
“Would you like to dance?” Daegal asked and Merlin knew he was antsy to participate. He was more a doer, a go-out-to-talk-to-total-strangers sort, whereas Merlin preferred to watch.

  
“Nah, you go ahead. Ask Freya,”

  
“You sure?” Daegal said doubtfully.

  
“Positive. Not in these these boots. I'll just go make a cup of coffee.” He was sick of the punch, and honestly, didn't feel like dancing. Merlin eased himself up and tilted to give Daegal a kiss on the cheek to soften the blow of it. Daegal headed in to make the room love him, and so they did.

  
Merlin went into Gwen's familiar kitchen, giving himself a firm talking to about an attitude adjustment. While he made coffee the song changed to the Monster Mash song and laughter blared through the doorway.

  
He was surprised when, as he was settling in with his steaming cup Arthur appeared on the other side of the counter, strapping his katana back on.

  
“Cut yourself free of Slutty Doo, did you?” Merlin asked before he could think the better of it.

  
Arthur grimaced. “Every time she gets near, I can hear the wedding march.”

  
Merlin subdued a snicker because, really, everyone could hear it. Arthur shot him a look. “And you, dating a television personality. I thought you weren't gay, Merlin?”

  
“I thought we agreed my sexuality wasn't your business?”

  
“You did bring him to a party.”

  
“You're just nosy.”

  
“Well, wouldn't it be embarrassing if I bought you a lapdance for Christmas and got the wrong kind?” Arthur said.

  
“Lapdances don't come in boxes, I assume I'd be alerted before being straddled. Besides, you strike me as a gift-card kind of man.” Merlin smirked.

  
“That sounds like a slur. I'll have you know I give fantastic Christmas presents, Merlin!” It was a haughty tone, as Arthur circled around to help himself to some of the coffee.

  
Merlin frowned at his blank back. “Where's your card?”

  
“My what?”

  
Merlin gestured. “The 'Who Am I' thingy?”

  
“I guessed it.”

  
“You?” There was probably more incredulity in Merlin's voice than he intended to slip through.

  
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Shocking as it may be, Merlin, I actually like Shakespeare. It was Benedick, from _Much Ado_.”

  
Much Ado. Not even the full title. The shorthand. Merlin tried to process this. For some reason Arthur and Shakespeare refused to co-exist in his mind in the same place. It was so unexpected.

  
“Stop thinking so hard, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur drawled.

  
“I've seen photographs of you lounging on fighter jets nearly naked in sunglasses that cost more than my car payment, and all of a sudden I'm supposed to reconcile that with literacy?” Great pictures, though. With Arthur all tanned and glistening the way people in real life never did, sprawled on one of the jets from the aeronautics companies that made up ADC, his clothing in danger of sliding right off.

  
Merlin was pretty sure Arthur was blushing. “I was wearing jeans.”

  
“Very strategically ripped jeans. Very low jeans. ”

  
“Look, I was twenty, I'm sure you have some decisions you'd like to rethink from when you were twenty, only there's no photographic evidence of them.” Arthur snapped. “And I happen to like Shakespeare.”

  
“And you got Benedick. Irony.”

  
Arthur stared at him a moment. It was somewhat pointed, but before Merlin could discover what the look was about Lance appeared at the door.

  
“What are you two hiding out in here for?” he asked.

  
“We're not hiding out,” Merlin and Arthur said in tandem, then turned to look at one another.

  
Lance looked between them and raised his brows.

  
“I was just telling Merlin his boyfriend seemed interesting,” Arthur said before any blank space could accumulate.

  
“Daegal Stewart? He's asked me if I might come on his show to discuss the upcoming dangers we're facing on the environmental front.”

  
Just making the rounds, wasn't he, Merlin thought.

  
“I'm sure you'd be very camera friendly,” Merlin said. And it was true. If he was going to make the over-sixties coo, Lance would strike them dead with his beauty and his superabundance of caring.

  
“I said I'd wait and see how your episode turned out before committing to anything, but I haven't had time to download it yet,”

Lance smiled. “Gwen's noticed our two best friends have disappeared and says, I quote, 'tell Merlin to get his skinny hinder in here'.”

  
“Episode?” Arthur echoed, brows drawing up into his fringe.

  
Merlin had slurped a big mouthful of coffee to get as much of the caffeine into him as he could.

  
“As in, television episode?” Now Arthur was smiling and looking rather pleased. “You?”

  
“You didn't know?” Lance asked, glancing between the two of them.

  
It appeared to strike Arthur that he had been left in ignorance, because he frowned now. “No. Merlin! What's the meaning of this? You never mentioned it!”

  
Merlin sloshed the remaining coffee in his cup around, staring into the bitter depths. “It's not a big deal. Daegal has a show on the local Public Broadcast is all.”

  
“It's not the size, you idiot. Getting to yammer on some piddly little public television show is some kind of accomplishment for an egghead, isn't it? That someone thinks the public will be interested in your snobby wittering on, and not just other members of your four-eyed tribe.”

  
Merlin stared at Arthur. “My god, how do you fit that many feet in your mouth at once? Can you unhinge your jaw like a big, stupid, blond python in order to make room for that much awkward foot?”

  
Arthur glared at him.

  
“Um...” Lance gestured weakly toward the living room.

  
Of course the game they were starting now was Blind Man's Bluff. Gwen had been worried the games were too juvenile, but Merlin found the room happy and buzzing. More than happy were all the people for a bit of flirty silliness.

  
Gwen had produced a scarf, and was explaining the rules. Gwaine volunteered to be blindman on the basis that he was first to sign up for 'a groping game', but Gwen bypassed him and nominated a friend from her clinic dressed as a 1950's greaser.  
The greaser was cloaked with the blindfold, a strip of scentbalm painted under her nose and spun about. She went lurching along amongst tittering until she nabbed a hairy legged Sailor Moon who trekked around a while before he caught a Super Mario, who called 'Mamma Mia!' when her identity was guessed. The Mario caught a witch, failed to guess him and had to go searching again, this time grabbing a renaissance clad lady whose name he did know. She, in turn, grabbed the Ghostbuster, who cornered Gwaine by the snack table. Apparently Gwaine was a bit memorable, and so one feel of the giant inflated chest and he was guessed. He gave a little cheer when caught.

  
“Now's my chance t'get my hands on Pendragon,” he said, and rubbed his hands together after strapping on the blindfold and running the scentbalm under his nose to block him from using scent to identify whom he caught.

  
“I think not,” Arthur said dryly.

  
Gwaine turned towards Arthur. “That so, Princess?”

  
Arthur frowned as Gwaine aimed roughly towards him and began to approach. Arthur put down his glass from whence he'd been leisurely sipping and began to edge away.

  
“You do know you're just supposed to catch whomever and guess who they are, don't you?” Gwen asked laughingly.

  
“And give up a fine opportunity to get m'hands on the lovely Pendragon arse?” Gwaine said in mock astonishment.

  
“Where's the fun in that?” Someone called.

  
“Yeah, get him, Gwaine!” contributed another helpful soul.

  
There were a few hoots of amusement as Arthur tried to approach one of the larger collections of people. They edged away from him, leaving him exposed. Arthur gritted his teeth while Merlin resisted grinning. Apparently the entire room wanted to see Arthur Pendragon groped by Gwaine. His presence at the party had clearly non-plussed a few people.

  
Gwaine was still on the path of Arthur's previous location. He shifted along until he made contact with the wall and then turned.

  
“Pendragon!” he sing-songed.

  
“He's over by the fireplace!” someone called out.

  
Arthur's head snapped unhappily in the direction of the assistance. “Isn't that cheating?” he said with a disapproving frown.

  
“I'm pretty sure there's no rule against it.” That was Daegal, at Merlin's left. He was grinning. “But, let's be fair and vote on it. All in favor of allowing?”

  
An awful lot of hands went up. Including Merlin's. He was enjoying Arthur's plight more than was properly polite. Also, Arthur's irked expression.

  
“Motion passes. Hints are allowed,” Daegal announced.

  
Gwaine was now heading for Arthur at full steam. The room was loud with feet on the floor in the effort to both elude Gwaine and leave Arthur a naked target. In addition there was the occasional hint called about Arthur's location or obstacles between them.

  
The two malphas circled, working around the furniture. Arthur's sneaker clad feet were surprisingly soundless on the wooden floors, probably some malpha skill for prey stalking. Even as tipsy as Gwaine had to be, he was also fairly immersed in the pursuit at hand. Even without the hints, Merlin thought he would have been a decent hunter. A better one if he wasn't somewhat liquored up.

  
Not as good as Arthur though, and probably unlikely to be stone sober.

  
For close to eight minutes, time stretched. They paced, circled, stalked and eluded, the hints falling away to awed quiet while the malphas revolved. Merlin was fascinated by it. Gwaine was jolly about it, occasionally calling out cheery provocations. Arthur, by contrast, was all seriousness.

  
It carried on until Gwaine, by a series of small factors and the smallest amount of audience infringement, managed to box Arthur into a corner. Gwaine snagged a scowling Arthur by the waist and groped his ass unrepentantly while the crowd gave a little cheer.

  
“Ahhh, what have we here, then?” he asked, hand retreating from Arthur's butt when Arthur smacked it good and hard. “Oi, a fiery one!” Gwaine said and began to fumble along Arthur's arms, to his chest, where he cupped his pectorals as if looking for breasts. Clicking his tongue at the absence of tits, his hands passed down to Arthur's waist to the sound of catcalls.

  
“Ah, a fine set of breeding hips on this one!” he told the crowd, holding onto Arthur's pelvis.

  
“You are an insufferable drunken deviant.” Arthur said, now looking unimpressed with his arms crossed.

  
“Guilty as charged, I must confess,” Gwaine said, merry. “Now, if I could just figure out the identity of this shirty slag in this fetching jumpsuit,” Arthur snorted and swiped the blindfold off him. Gwaine made a smoochy sound in response. Arthur flicked at him with the blindfold until Sophia came prancing up with the scentbalm, eager little helpmeet, and edged Gwaine aside. He looked at her, then Arthur and let out a deep belly laugh while ambling for the punch bowl.

  
While blindfolded, Arthur demonstrated the same fleet footed prowess at stalking. Perhaps better than Gwaine, as he hadn't been throwing back jello eyeballs atop Gwen's cocktails. He stood still to listen to the shuffling of the players, the rustling of clothing, though by this point a few people had wandered into the kitchen for light conversation. Still, after a moments listening, Arthur headed after the biggest clutch of people, which happened to include Merlin. He'd gone with a safety-in-numbers stratagem.

  
Merlin joined the general hushed effort to relocate quickly. With Daegal beside him they slipped along, but got caught in a bottleneck of people trying to flee with nowhere to go. Merlin turned to depart the other way while Daegal carried on, making it past the entertainment center.

  
All the while Arthur drew closer, arms out.

  
People on the other side of the room hooted and gave encouragements indicating how near Arthur was to nabbing someone. They commended people who boldly bypassed within arm's length of Arthur unscathed. Arthur made a grab for a giggling Jack Skellington, but missed as she dove over the couch, and rolled onto her feet to a burst of applause.

  
Arthur was shifted to a new course by the attempted grab. He started forward once more, heading to the end of the room. Merlin edged along, finding himself side by side with Freya, whose eyes sparkled.

  
“Hurry it up, Princess,” Gwaine called.

  
“Gwaine, no taunting the blindman.” Lance warned him.

  
Arthur was clearly, by the set of his jaw, getting fed up with the game. In a burst of speed he lunged forward very quickly in their direction.

  
The small corner of people scattered with little sounds of joviality as Arthur bore down on them. The Lara Croft lurched sideways with the Captain Jack Sparrow, whose scabbard tripped them both where they fell in a tumble.

  
As Merlin turned to flee the other way he caught a glance of skin and then flying honey hair. Sophia. She was coming towards the predicted point of Arthur-fall, rather than away. Her inclusion sent Freya fleeing in a rapid scramble to avoid collision. There was a snarl of chaos and ruffled costumes and suddenly a wayward elbow sent Merlin pitching sideways. He teetered, unbalanced on the heels of the unfamiliar boots, hands spread wide. He stuttered forward.

  
Large hands caught him around his middle, and their pull redirected the force of Merlin's tumble from face planting on the ground. Instead, he was pulled against Arthur's chest, gripped tightly so he wouldn't fall.

  
Merlin froze, horror infusing him, top to toes.

  
Arthur's hands were stable, securing his prey from the upset of balance, or perhaps as a preventative against escape, though Merlin was well and truly snagged, one of Arthur's hands tucking at his lower back, the other gripping his bicep. Worse, he appeared to be frozen with the shock of it all inside the embrace.

  
Though he'd been assiduous with lube pads, beta hormones and stern intentions, Merlin wished he too had smeared some scentbalm under his nose, for he was closer than ever to Arthur, and the smell was abundant. That particular sensuous smell that made Merlin's brain read like a love-addled crack addict. Perhaps worse was the solid warm feel of him, something Merlin had thus far remained in blissful ignorance of, except in handshakes. Looking at Arthur's broad chest was bad enough. Feeling his comparatively slighter frame pressed to the breadth of robust jumpsuit-clad Arthur, cloaked in his musky cologne and alpha scent was glorious.

  
Merlin naturally found himself looking into Arthur's face, mostly cloaked as it was by the blue and lavender paisley scarf. His mouth was unencumbered though, the lips parted with a kind of puzzled concern. Merlin could just see the endearingly crooked tooth inside. Arthur's head was tilted just slightly, showing off the strong jaw, the way his blond hair tufted under the pressure of the scarf.

  
Arthur's hands began to rove then, coursing up his back, fingertips following the course of his spine through the cape, up to the nape of his neck. The other followed down over bare bicep, to the bat vambraces on his forearm to grip his wrist. A thumb insinuated under the cheap polyester and snuggled under the heel of Merlin's hand at his pulse point.

  
Merlin felt the final delicious mortification as the hands made their intrepid journey. He'd gone hard and was starting to get wet under the stupid Batwoman skirt. It made Merlin's knees quirk under him, so he jerked to free himself. Arthur must have been prepared for attempted flight, because he drew Merlin even closer to him, so Merlin was flush against his torso.

  
He heard Arthur's intake of breath at the contact and knew Arthur had felt it too. How could he fail to, really? Merlin felt his cheeks light in vermilion mortification.

  
“Who've you got, Arthur?” Gwen interjected softly, startling Merlin. He had forgotten there were other people in the room. The crackling atmosphere which everyone was privy to. They were all staring... of course they were.

  
The questing hands slid down Merlin's chest, down, down and oh god...

  
The blind hand encountered the yellow utility belt, then followed the low slung band of material around to Merlin's hips, to his lower back under the cape. There fingers curled against the slick material, held Merlin in place. The hand at his wrist started into motion, and skimmed up Merlin's arm to his neck, curled along his jaw, and felt along the frame of the mask.

  
“Merlin,” Arthur said softly.

  
There was a little cheer from the audience. Before Arthur could get the blindfold off, Merlin had fled his personal space. He fled the moment Arthur lifted his hands free and almost made it across the room before Arthur's sight was returned. Merlin's mouth was dry and his heart was hammering with the thought of fumbling around the room blindfolded, everyone's eyes on him and his inconvenient erection. And Arthur, knowing he'd put it there.

  
“Good job everyone!” Gwen said, her voice slightly raised to address the room at large and drawing attention away. “And now, I think it's time for cake!”

  
For a moment Merlin and Gwen's eyes met. He knew he'd been rescued.

  
While most people headed toward the kitchen on Gwen's urging, having at one time or another ogled the two tiered fondant extravaganza of a pumpkin patch graveyard and been inspired to eat it, as beautiful cakes often provoked people into doing.  
Merlin felt Arthur looking at him from across the bunch of people, but he once more had Sophia wrapped around his arm, and she was pulling him toward the kitchen and cake, her mouth moving. Once he and most of the other people moved on, Merlin made a beeline for the bathroom. He closed and locked the door, finding himself out of breath.

  
He snatched off the mask and braced his hands against the counter, unable to look at himself in the mirror. He couldn't have borne looking at his reflection. He forced himself to even his breathing, his blood still hot with the proximity and the scent of Arthur and his roving, possessing hands. This was why he couldn't be near Arthur, just this reason. This accidental rousing. However sweet it might have been, embarrassment was slathered thick over it, smothering anything else. He'd gotten aroused while smashed against the stupid alpha. How was he going to look Arthur in the face again? Oh, he'd avoid it as much as possible, but there was an inevitability that made Merlin ache.

  
There came a soft rap at the door.

  
“Merlin?” Daegal's voice sounded.

  
“Out in a minute,” Merlin answered, wiping his mouth and making an effort to sound normal.

  
“I can hear you freaking out through the door,” Daegal said.

  
Merlin had no ready answer for that.

  
“Merlin, just, let me in, okay?” Daegal appealed.

  
He would have preferred to be left alone in his embarrassment, though it must be said, better Daegal than someone with I-told-you-so capacities. Someone who would rub Merlin's nose in it. And he didn't want the whole party to see Daegal appealing at the bathroom and thus making his location all the more evident. So Merlin clicked open the door and Daegal slipped inside, re-locking the door behind him. He'd pushed the mask up to his brow, where it made his bangs stick up.

  
Merlin closed the lid of the toilet, then edged down to sit, feeling dejected and guilty. He kept his eyes pinned on the fuzzy contour rug in green around the base of the toilet. “Look, Daegal, I--”

  
“It's fine,” Daegal said and it sounded sincere, rather than recriminating as Merlin imagined it should be when your boyfriend dashed off to the bathroom after being groped by someone else.

  
“I'm so sorry,” Merlin reached up to scrub at his face. God, what it must have looked like!

  
“No, seriously,” Daegal dropped down to kneel on the rug in front of Merlin, and reached out to brace his hands on Merlin's knees atop the vinyl boots. Merlin saw him looking up at him, but did not meet Daegal's insistent gaze. “I know that sometimes when it's an alpha, even if 99% of the time it's not your thing, things can happen. You can't help it.”

  
Daegal continued, soothing at Merlin's knees and then higher, skimming at the bands of skin between boot-top and skirt. “I've known I was gay for forever; alphas never did anything for me, not before I gendered, not after. I was pretty militant in college; rallies, protests, snotty quotes to the ignorant, the whole thing.”

  
His thumbs eased into the crease behind Merlin's knees. “I had this boyfriend. Momega. He had an older brother who was femalpha and who couldn't seem to fathom what two omegas saw in each other. Like sex couldn't be satisfying without an alpha involved. He used to make a lot of uncomfortable jokes, make nasty comments, generally be a huge douche. I disliked him intensely. And once – some party, because he was a little tipsy – he got it into his head that all we needed to set us straight was an alpha to reform us. So he chased me around a room and kissed me, pawed at me until I decked him. I didn't want it, I hated him... but something about it. Him being alpha and me omega. You can not want something with your mind and your body will still react, Merlin.”

  
As Daegal spoke he'd drawn the skirt across Merlin's thighs and slowly pushed it up, showing off the black briefs. Daegal smiled at the stiff bulge, like Merlin had confirmed all his suspicions of what necessitated his urgent flight.

  
Merlin was torn. Honesty demanded he tell Daegal that this was no affectation of lust, not a product of excitement transmuted by the vagaries of alpha/omega biology. That he did in fact have some desire for Arthur, might even come to have a grudging friendship with the schmuck.

  
Except Merlin was set on defying Arthur, and it seemed somehow monstrous to counter Daegal's mature understanding. To throw it back in his face. Merlin didn't want to hurt Daegal.

  
… And he wanted, _God_ , he wanted release. He wanted to share intimacy, wanted to no longer be the pitiful old naif, who'd never known successful sexual touch by another.

  
He mutely watched as Daegal tugged down the front of his briefs, revealed his erection pressing upwards, tenting the skirt. Daegal lifted the skirt, rolling it to tuck in the top of the belt. It exposed Merlin and he leaned backwards a little, eyes going half lidded as Daegal slid a hand between the bowed band of his briefs and Merlin's flesh. He cupped Merlin's testicles, and in doing so Merlin heard the faint crinkle of Daegal's fingers making contact with the lube pad.

  
“I wondered about that beta smell,” Daegal said softly, kissing Merlin's thigh, then rubbing his cheek against the wiry black hairs as he looked up at him. “Mock-blocker.” He teased, but softened it by pressing forward to lick Merlin's cock-head. Merlin groaned and spread his legs. Daegal's fingers pressed back, touched him where he was beginning to grow wet, and where he longed for completetion more fiercely than he let himself acknowledge.

  
Daegal fingered him until Merlin couldn't stop his hips from hitching, his jaw clenched against any of the lusty noises he wanted to make. Then Daegal leaned forward and engulfed his prick. Daegal's mouth was hot on him, licking wet, and so nice. A lover or two had tried this to rouse Merlin's ardor before, assuming he was just having some trouble getting it up. Unanimously, their labors had been fruitless and Merlin hadn't been able to really enjoy it for the stress of not being able to get hard. This though? While he was erect and eager, the smell and the touch of Arthur fresh on his body, this was all new, pleasure previously only hinted at. The smell of Arthur sustained him through the faint nagging acknowledgment that Daegal's scent wasn't right, that he wasn't Arthur. The mouth servicing him was not that of his alpha, and that wasn't right, some part of his brain unrelentingly knew.

  
But Arthur was all over his skin, clutching at his clothes in that mysterious manner that somehow elevated Arthur's scent above all others. Merlin wanted to press his wrist to his nose and inhale where Arthur's thumb rested, but he didn't dare with Daegal present. Instead he gripped the counter and the seat beneath him and gave over to it.

  
Merlin knew it was wrong, oh he knew, but he let the alpha scent saturate his world, take over everything. He recalled Arthur's hands and the low way he'd said Merlin's name. He took the memory of Arthur's lips and paired it with the giving mouth on his yearning flesh. Arthur's hands tickling, slipping along his hole, hinting at where they both knew he'd like to be.

  
Once committed to the fantasy, it was over embarrassingly quickly. It took a shorter a time than some attempted lovers had sucked at his quiescent cock in the hope of some hardening. Maybe Arthur's touch was near enough to fool that stubborn part of his make up, maybe his willingness to be fooled had reached an apex, but it was probably a few short minutes and Merlin had to stuff his fist in his mouth to block his sounds. He gave a short cry muffled by his hand and spilled into Daegal's waiting mouth. It was nice, a hot flare of pleasure... but not enough.

  
Strange to come out the other end, both flush with success, and yet, in some fundamental manner, unfilled.

  
Daegal was a bit short of breath as he drew back. He tore off a bit of toilet paper and blotted at his face and Merlin's cock before he tucked Merlin back in and smiled at him. “Come on. We better go get some cake.”

  
Merlin felt a shaft of guilt slice through him, looking into Daegal's flushed and pleased face. He knew, in the pit of his stomach, this was wrong.

  
Daegal stood and Merlin could see his nipples pebbled through the flimsy costume. Merlin swallowed.

  
“What about you?” he asked.

  
Daegal went to the sink and washed his hands. “Later,” he promised.

  
It should have been a wonderful hint of things to come. Instead it instilled a sense of foreboding into Merlin.

  
They reintegrated into the party with more sangfroid than Merlin would have thought. There was only one moment where Gwaine looked at them, squinted and opened his mouth to comment. Freya beat him to it. She buried her elbow into his gut, and then stole the frosting pumpkin off his plate.

  
Merlin didn't look for Arthur to seek his response, and managed through evasion and excuses to continuously avoid him.  
After ten, there was a steady hemorrhage of guests. Merlin sent Daegal home, since he had a taping in the morning, and Merlin had promised to help with some of the clean up. He could see Daegal was disappointed they weren't retreating homewards to have vigorous sex, but he hugged Merlin and kissed him, and promised that later they would.

  
Then he stole the note card off Merlin's back. “You're a rotten guesser, professor!” Daegal taunted and took off into the night.  
Merlin helped put away most of the food, before Lance and Gwen started doing more kissing than picking up. Then he he left quietly and went home.

  
His apartment offered the perfect quiet grounds for introspection.

  
He watched shitty television until his brain was mush, then threw himself into bed.

 

  
ᴥ

 

  
 _Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

  
 _Subject: Le Fey, Morgana_

  
_Sexugender./Physiogender: Theta/female_

  
_Orientation: Femsexual_

  
_Marital Status: Single_

  
_I knew I had to get out. I knew there was something so wrong with him then, that reason or mercy had no part in. He couldn't just let me live and be. I guessed he was waiting for the end of the school year. So I made my own plans. Plans to escape. The most elaborate plans outside of a heist movie, and all those years being a bad girl paid off; I had friends in high and low places. His general emotional neglect and compensation with gifts meant that though I was cut off from my money I had plenty of pretty things to trade._

  
_It was Beltane. My uncle was at a big, highly publicized party. He clearly never thought I'd actually leave him. The bodyguard had the night off, to go to a small Run. I drugged the housekeeper with sleeping pills I traded some purses for and stole her keycard to get out of the house. But not before I ransacked his office. I took everything; my information, my legal documents, my photos, all the loose cash. I even had the combination to the safe, I'd gotten it by setting up this webcam in his study, spying on him after the hormone thing. My mother's jewelry was in it, and there was no way I was letting him keep it._

  
_Under the jewels I found a stack of papers. It was a paternity test._

  
_Oh yes, Professor, it's exactly what you think. My uncle wasn't really my uncle._

  
_It was my biological father who was going to pay people to righteously mutilate me._

 

  
ᴥ

 

  
Merlin woke late the next day and had to rush to get to his Friday morning class on time. He spent the day in a gummy lethargy, but then, most of his students were half submerged in the same syrupy mire, if not obviously hung over.

  
Merlin lectured, attended a meeting, did some research and above all, did his best not to think. Around lunch he texted Gwaine on a pretext of the results of the pill he'd given him to analyze, but mostly to find out if he was still alive. In response he got a selfie of Gwaine looking peaked and wan calling him a vicious taskmaster with no compassion in his soul.

  
In the late afternoon Daegal wanted to arrange a dinner date at his apartment. Merlin pleaded a headache, then smacked his head into the desk for becoming a cliché.

  
He went home late after some punitive paperwork that wasn't due for weeks, but he felt he needed to cosmically redress his fib. And the whole thing with Daegal. He spent the drive pondering this new phase in his life, how he'd gotten into it, and how to get out.

  
At home he puttered around his kitchen, and then started making himself some macaroni and cheese from scratch, like his mom taught him. She'd always made it when he felt down, and he needed something to inspirit him.

  
He had just mixed the noodles and the cheese sauce together in the pan when the doorbell rang.

  
Merlin sighed and smeared his hands on his apron. He prayed it wasn't Daegal with roses. If it was Daegal with roses, anticipating hot omega monkey sex, Merlin was in trouble. There was going to be no way to covertly sniff Arthur's pilfered jacket in order to maintain an erection to get through it.

  
“Get through it,” Merlin repeated his thought out loud, shaking his head at himself. That was not the way to refer to intimacy with someone. You were supposed to want it, not be white-knuckling through it.

  
There was actually something worse than an amorous Daegal on the stoop. It was Arthur.

  
Once ascertaining this, Merlin ducked away from the peephole. He tried praying Arthur would leave when no response was imminent but Arthur just rang the doorbell again and again.

  
“I know you're here, Merlin, your car's here,” he called after the fifth or sixth ring.

  
Merlin hazarded another glance out the peephole. Now Arthur looked pettish, his arms crossed before him.

  
Merlin sighed. He considered shouting at Arthur through the door to go away, but theoretically he was a adult, so he surrendered. He waited a moment then opened the door and peered at him. “Don't you have a super important job to be at?”

  
“I took a long weekend,” Arthur said, and thrust his way into the apartment.

  
As Arthur walked along the hall, he peered at the pictures on Merlin's wall, making no effort to hide his curiosity about Merlin's residence. Merlin trailed behind him, a little ill with the thought of conversing. When Arthur reached the sitting room he peeled off his coat and tossed it on to the couch, where it tapped a precarious stack of books which toppled to the carpet.

  
“Honestly, you're a slob,” Arthur grumbled, kneeling to right the pile.

  
“You don't have to stay,” Merlin reminded him. “I'm not even sure why you're here.” He went into the kitchen and began sprinkling Parmesan and breadcrumbs over the top of the macaroni. It made him look calm, despite his internal panic. He was trying to think of a good excuse to send Arthur on his way, but nothing was coming.

  
“Lance is with Gwen at her place, and Leon made some assignation at the party yesterday. He's holed up in the suite with her. I could wait in the bar until they're done, but then I'd only worry about how badly it will smell when I crawl in there at three a.m. At least this way I'm entertained,” Arthur approached behind Merlin and eyed the pan. “Good. You've enough to share.”

  
“You've been sexiled and you want me to share my dinner with you,” Merlin muttered.

  
“Stop being a sour host, Merlin.”

  
Merlin stuck the pan in the oven and set the timer, jaw tight against pointing out he hadn't invited Arthur inside, let alone to his apartment, and therefore he wasn't a host. More like a hostage. A hostage dreading a certain topic coming up about other things that had come up.

  
“Where are the plates? I'll set the table.”

  
Merlin found himself pointing to the appropriate cupboards. He watched Arthur pull out dishes and set the table. It was a weirdly domestic task to see Arthur do. Then he tore his eyes away and made himself assemble a salad, because adults ate proper vegetables.

  
“I read your study. And streamed your television debut this afternoon online.” Arthur said as he collected plates and cutlery and… cloth napkins. Did Merlin own cloth napkins? Apparently he did. Merlin assumed Gwen was to blame for there being cloth napkins in his apartment, and then wondered how on earth Arthur found them in the first place. Apparently good breeding came with radar for such things, even in the cupboards of strangers.

  
“Oh.” Merlin couldn't think of anything else to say.

  
Arthur arranged silverware. “It's important to you, isn't it?”

  
“Hm?”

  
“Gender equality and gender rights and all that stuff.”

  
“Yes. All that stuff is very important to me,” Merlin said as he got out a bag of lettuce.

  
Arthur sank into a chair at the foot of the table, now set. “So you think it's okay for people to just pretend not to be what they are?”

  
“Do people have an obligation to be candid about their sexuality?” Merlin questioned. He was trying to keep his professor hat on, asking questions.

  
“When sexuality forms a part of identity. A part of someone else's life. Alphas and omegas are matched, we bond.”

  
“You can bond to a beta,” Merlin pointed out, but he knew it was feeble. Still, it had to be said.

  
Arthur snorted. “Don't be ridiculous. I want a full bond. I want to feel someone with me. Equal doesn't mean the same, Merlin. If you're arguing people should be free to be who they are, I should be free to be an alpha who wants an omega as nature patterned.”

  
Merlin was adding chopped dried apricots and silvered almonds to the salad. “Then find your omega at Spring Run, where people go when they want to be mated, bonded and married. There's no need for you to be sniffing potential mates in the workplace where people go to work.”

  
“Not all omegas can afford to go to a run, or the same run.” Arthur said, and Merlin knew he was thinking of his empty years at runs. It was written all over his face.

  
And it did make Merlin sad, it did, but he didn't owe Arthur anything. He didn't. His life was his own, he refused to let it be conditional on someone else. “Yeah, but if they can't or haven't gone that doesn't give you some right to them. Just because you're an alpha and you want something, that means you get to have it? Just because?”

  
Arthur shifted, something uncomfortable in his core. “It's your alpha; always respect the alpha. If you have your alpha's support, you have zer strength. The highest form of praise for an alpha is to have people who want to run in zer pack. The alpha in turn praises zer by inviting them to do so. It is an honor to be mated to an alpha with a large powerful pack.” It sounded like a tenet of some absurd religion. Then again, knowing Uther Pendragon, maybe it was.

  
And wasn't it strange, having to remind himself that Arthur was Uther's son?

  
Merlin pressed back, growing a bit more heated. “So alphas are more deserving of respect because they are inherently better than everyone else, just because they're alpha.”

  
“No. But alphas have strengths. Alphas make up most of our elected government because we make such good leaders.” Arthur pointed out boldly.

  
“I suppose that must mean white, masculine, heterosexual, cis-physiogendered alphas must make even better leaders that the ethnic, feminine, homosexual trans-physiogendered alphas, then,” Merlin shot back. “Seeing as the government is full of them too.”

  
Arthur wasn't slowed. “But it's proven that alphas respond better to stress, and emergencies. Many alphas prefer to lead and make good leaders. An alphas task is to protect the pack.”

  
“They also are more exclusionary, and are less likely to compromise. We'll never find out if anyone else can lead while alphas still think it's their god-given right and they won't give anyone else a chance.” Merlin put the knife down with a bit more verve that intended, and turned to look at Arthur.

  
“Isn't that why we can subjugate? Because it is a naturally or God-given ability over others? Some alphas abuse their power and refuse to compromise, but just as many don't. You won't admit their strength.” Arthur said, his face a mask of focus.

  
“I won't admit it's a strength unique to alphas,” Merlin corrected, placing the salad on the table. But he realized this was getting much hotter than intended, and so broke the flow to ask “What do you want to drink?”

  
“Do you have beer?” Arthur asked after a moment.

  
Merlin nodded. He did have a few bottles hanging out in the back of his fridge. He handed one over to Arthur and poured himself a glass of water.

  
Arthur accepted the bottle, but didn't let the topic go. “It's more than just the mating, though, sexugender. It's the natural order, it's life, it's society, it's packs. Don't you believe in having a pack?”

  
“Not the old fashioned kind; Grand Alpha on High who commands all under zer, unquestioned.” Merlin sunk to sit opposite Arthur.

  
“You don't believe in having a leader?”

  
“Of the country? Yes. Of my life? No.”

  
“Lance seems to like it.”

  
“He's Lance.” Merlin made a conciliatory gesture with his water glass. “I don't argue that no one should have a pack and an alpha. If it works for you? More power to you. What I'm saying is that you shouldn't have to.”

  
Arthur frowned. “Packs are our history, our culture. How can you just discard them?”

  
“Same way we've discarded scentmarking, pre-marital sex taboos or flight or fight responses to harrowing situations like public speaking. They no longer serve a purpose in modern culture, though they may be biologically mandated. Do sweaty palms help at job interviews? Can you just run away from an IRS agent and consider the problem solved? Can your alpha speak on your behalf of you in court? No. I don't need an alpha, in this world.” Merlin said. He'd picked up his fork from the setting and fiddled with it while he watched Arthur across his table.

  
“But your alpha could go sit in the gallery, offer support, their backing, their strength.”

  
Merlin shrugged. “So could any other family. Are you implying the support of an alpha is somehow more valid than other forms?”

  
“In some circumstances it can be. Alphas are more confident, more self assured than most omegas, who tend to be more anxious. I'm sure I read that somewhere, but even if it isn't true, alphas are raised to be more confident in addition to being natural leaders.” Arthur took a sip of his beer.

  
“Yes, but we're doing this thing where we're trying to raise our children with equal encouragement for confidence. And, yeah, if you want an alpha to be confident for you, get one. Some of us don't need the help. What I'm saying is that society and human behavior should not be patterned to pander to the alpha.” Merlin had tried to be clinical in his delivery, but it wasn't working. He was just so frustrated.

  
“Pander?!” Arthur choked in incredulity, slamming his beer bottle onto the table.

  
Merlin leaned forward. “Yes, pander! You're whining and moaning because it will be harder to find a mate if you can't tell the sheep from the other herding dogs, slotting every. Single. human interaction into a binary pattern of behavior: rival and subservient.”

  
“I don't think of you as subservient! That's absurd, you're the least subservient beta I've ever met,” Arthur protested.

  
“See? Beta. Not person. Not friend, not co-worker, something you can master. You define me by who I go to bed with and whether or not you think you have some natural right to own me. If you think of yourself as my potential pack leader, that must automatically mean you think I am subjacent, subaltern, subclass, subservient, subordinate and submissive; from the Latin 'sub'; **Under**.” By the end of it Merlin was a little out of breath, and had come to his feet, his hands braced on the table to lean forward across his table towards Arthur.

  
Arthur was staring at him, fingers rigid. Merlin couldn't tell if he was angry or shocked, only that he was staring. Merlin slithered back into his seat.

  
“You got hard last night when I caught you,” Arthur said then.

  
Merlin felt a knot tighten in his throat and his flush take over. “We're not discussing it, Arthur.” He said with finality.

  
“Why not? My being an alpha mattered then.” Arthur crossed his arms again, expression going smug.

  
“Arthur,” Merlin warned.

  
“Really? Or are you going to say it was all emotional and you're harboring some secret passion for me?” The tone of his voice indicated how unlikely Arthur thought that was.

  
“Whatever happened to my homosexuality you're so fine with? Maybe it was the masculinity and the alpha was incidental?” Merlin said. “After all, you're in my head to know what parts I'm having embarrassing, uncontrollable and public reactions to.”

  
Arthur frowned. “I'd have thought you'd be more embarrassed that everyone at that party knew what you got up to in that bathroom like horny teenagers.”

  
“That sounds suspiciously like jealousy, Arthur.”

  
“In your sweaty dreams, Merlin. I have an omega.”

  
“Oh yes, the omega. Tell me. Why this decade long epic quest for your one true omega you're so damn set on conquering?” It was right there. An opening to ask all the questions he so wanted to know about his truemate. To understand this. Arthur clearly wasn't pressed under the same limiting parameters involving physical intimacy as Merlin, and yet he still waited and wanted. Why? What was it he saw his omega as?

  
Arthur shrugged. “Don't know.”

  
“Oh, bullshit. Alphas don't wait this long and not know why,” Merlin snapped.

  
Arthur's jaw set. “I want my omega.”

  
“So pick one. It's not like the Sophias of the world aren't literally hurling themselves in your path to be possessed,” Merlin said.

  
“Not like that,” Arthur shook his head. “I don't want some omega viewing me as a social ladder or a pocketbook or a doorway to celebrity.”

  
“So pick one who doesn't.”

  
“I want one that smells like mine. Other omegas smell nice but … I always knew there was one just for me, someone meant for me and only me. I found zer, this year. It was worth the wait, smelling zer, knowing ze was mine.” Arthur looked faraway as he related it, happy. Then he came back to earth, clearly recalling they were in a heated discussion and gave Merlin a steely look. “As a beta you can't know, that's a fact. It's that science you love to spout at me, about how we're different. Equal but different. It's like smelling for the ripest strawberries at the market. You'll know when you've got the right one, but you have to keep smelling until you find it.”

  
“So all this just so you can be undisputed in your ownership of some poor breeder?” Merlin said, and he tried not to let his general disgust show through.

  
“Stop painting me to be a brute! It's not like that,” Arthur snapped. He jerked to stand, and then paced. “I just want the person who fits with me. Who'll think I'm the alpha worth marrying and bonding to. Alphas aren't always the way you say. Some are selfish, but for me being an alpha is a responsibility I take seriously. My pack is important, and the people in it are my family and I'll do everything I can to see they're well cared for and safe. That's more than the damn government does these days. We stopped having packs, and suddenly all the people who needed their alphas think it's socially awkward to have one. People like you do fine, Merlin, but what about others? They need someone to have their backs, and not just someone, an alpha who will love and protect them.”

  
The timer buzzed. It seemed to bring Arthur back from his small rant and broke Merlin's focus as he watched Arthur speak so passionately about honor, love and responsibility.

  
Merlin roused himself in the suddenly loud quiet and pulled the macaroni from the stove. He set it on the table between them. Then he wordlessly slithered to sit across from Arthur, who'd swiped up the bottle and took some distracted pulls from it.  
Was all of it real? Or was it the kind of pretty verbiage studs used when they wanted new laws to reinstate their influence after years of having it chipped away so their lives could resemble some semblance of equality? Who was Arthur? Was Arthur this man with such noble values, who seemed to think all alphas would comport themselves day to day with such virtue? Was Arthur the pious child of Uther Pendragon, his heir in all senses of the word? Traditionalist or Sociobiologist?

  
“So, your omega...?” Merlin prompted after a few lengthy moments of quiet. His tone was gentler, less inflammatory than moments before, when he'd thrown it at Arthur heatedly.

  
Arthur put the bottle down and picked up the serving spoon. “I trust nature and my instincts to guide me to the best possible mate who will help me become the best possible alpha.”

  
He dug into the steaming macaroni and gestured for Merlin to hand his plate over. Merlin complied, though unsure how it was Arthur came to be serving. He almost wanted to point it out, this little action that was theoretically the providence of the head of the household, and Arthur had taken it upon himself even though it wasn't even his home, and he hadn't been bade to do it. Strange how massive such a thing as scooping out noodles could be.

  
But Arthur was carrying tension in his shoulders, and Merlin didn't honestly want to offend him.

  
So, he asked softly while Arthur served him. “But … When would you stop being alpha and omega and just be Arthur and Jane or John, whatever?”

  
Arthur served them both, then handed Merlin the salad. “Not having been married or bonded, I wouldn't presume to guess at the mechanics of mated life.”

  
“Cop-out. And all I've heard you say is you just want this omega because ze smells like something you can possess. Don't you care who ze is?”

  
Arthur frowned. “I trust the smell to be someone who is mentally compatible with me, if that's what you mean.”

  
“Yeah, but all you care about is the smell. What do you want zer to be like? Happy-go-lucky? Melancholy? A neat-freak? Obsessed with Middle Earth? A crazy scrapbooker? Dedicated golfer? A wino? A shopaholic? A pothead?”

  
“Christ, Merlin. That's going a bit overboard, I'll accept what comes, what works, I'm open.” Arthur said.

  
“There's a difference between being open and not giving a shit if zer is a paranoid conspiracy theorist emetophiliac who robs 7-Elevens for the money to feed zer massive leech collection.” Merlin gestured with his fork, but neither of them had taken a bite of their food yet.

  
“...What's an emetophiliac? No. Don't tell me. It's probably something so disgusting I won't want to contemplate why you happen to know the word for it off the tip of your tongue. What do I need to do? Make up an entire list of all the social deviant behaviors most people take for granted they wouldn't want in a partner?” Arthur said, holding his beer again.

  
“No, but how about something you do want? Some sign that this person is going to matter, beyond what-ever possessive joy you get from listening to them mewl while you knot them.”

  
“Now who sounds jealous?” Arthur said sharply.

  
Merlin considered hurling the heavy wooden salad bowl at him, but before he could do much more than scowl Arthur sighed and held up his hands. It stayed Merlin's ire, but barely.

  
“I want someone kind,” he said. “Someone with courage and compassion, someone who can mitigate my blunter tendencies, will be faithful to me and be a strong mother to my kids. Someone who knows who they are. Happy?”

  
Merlin stabbed his macaroni and cheese in answer.

  
“And, I really believe that scent, nature, will lead me to that. That's why one omega in the world would smell like that; because they were meant for me, would match me, in all the ways I could dream. More, even.”

  
“What if ...” Merlin said, “What if ze is like all the other omegas you want nothing to do with? What if ze is like Sophia?”

  
“Ze won't be.” The authority with which he said it was impregnable.

  
Merlin pushed, his voice going softer than he meant. “Well, what if your omega is all those things you want, but doesn't want you thinking you get to have zer just because you smell good to one another? What if ze doesn't want to be in your pack? What if ze doesn't want to be someone you get to command?”

  
“I can't predict the future, Merlin. Not what ze will or won't be. I can only try and make it work. I can only hope. And I've waited so long for this, I'm not going to give up hope. Things might not be perfect, but I'm willing to work on it. The same as anyone does in any relationship anywhere.”

  
They ate in a pregnant quiet, both digesting the words that had come spilling out of them before the food was laid. There was an aspect of a companionable hush, each well aware the other was ruminating on the exchange, and potentially arming for a second volley.

  
Afterward they slumped in the living room with after-dinner tea and an open package of cookies no one had touched yet, Arthur on the couch and Merlin in his chair. As it turned out a truce was declared somewhere around the washing of the dishes, a wordless one made by glances, and the eventual bringing up of Gwen and Lance as a topic of conversation.

  
“They're going to get married. They're perfect for one another. If they weren't so nice, it'd make me ill,” Merlin said, dropping a pile of papers he'd been making some attempt to thumb through.

  
“It is a bit disgusting. Lance gets all soppy when he talks about her,” Arthur confided.

  
“Gwen smiles at nothing,” Merlin volunteered. “I mean, she already smiled a lot, but usually at things, you know? This is senseless smiling. The kind right before the actress bursts into song in a musical.”

  
Gwen had gone from 'On My Own' to 'S'Wonderful'. Meanwhile, Merlin had moved on to some weird mash-up of “I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair' and 'I Don't Know How To Love Him'. It was, frankly, dizzying.

  
“They're going to have to choose a place to live,” Arthur said, his eyes fastened on the bookshelves somewhere behind Merlin  
He didn't need to elaborate. Merlin knew what went unsaid; where exactly was the happy couple going to settle down to get on with having an unnervingly clean house, flourishing careers and perfect little babies? Either way, one of them was going to lose proximity to a friend.

  
It made Merlin's gut go cold, thinking of Gwen re-locating several hundred miles away. Of not being able to roll by with take out, or flop on her couch when he was feeling useless and frustrated. He could still call her, of course, but it wasn't the same thing. Their lives would deeply change, and they'd be too far apart to see the changes.

  
“Is she... is she going to join your pack?” Merlin couldn't resist asking, looking at Arthur. It only just occurred to him as a possibility. He didn't know Gwen's feelings on the matter, come to think of it.

  
Arthur shrugged. “I haven't discussed it.”

  
“But, if it's near you,” Merlin pressed. “Will you make her?”

  
“I don't make anyone take my scentmark!” Now Arthur sounded insulted.

  
“No, but you could pressure her. Her husband being in your pack,” Merlin grumbled.

  
“I meant what I said. If Gwen doesn't find me a worthy alpha, she's under no obligation.” Arthur said stiffly, and Merlin suspected his vanity had been wounded.

  
He also didn't mean to rouse ill feelings. “Sorry. You're right.” And he closed his mouth.

  
They sat in quiet again until a sharp rap sounded at the door. Merlin straightened and cast a glance to Arthur. He shrugged.  
Merlin retreated down the hall to answer it.

  
He'd barely opened the door when it shoved open the rest of the way revealing a woman who strode in with one sleek bag in tow. She was wearing a thick black coat with the collar turned up, a big pair of sunglasses and a black beret. Merlin sputtered in protest against the invasion until she kicked the door shut behind her with spike heels and took off her sunglasses. Morgana le Fey.

  
“Dr. Emrys,” she said. Her face was less porcelain and more ashy than Merlin had ever seen it. Her eyes were reddened, and bereft of the MAC brand warpaint she used to accentuate the aristocratic ferocity of her Celtic features. There were bags under her eyes, and she looked completely drained.

  
“Ms. Le Fey,” Merlin said, surprised by both the suddenness of her presence and her somber demeanor. Stress seemed to come off her like an aura.

  
“Dr. Emrys -- Merlin. I know this is sudden, and we don't know each other, but you've proved your discretion and we held a kinship. I need sanctuary.”

  
“Sanctuary?” Merlin repeated.

  
Morgana closed her eyes briefly, then reopened them. “I take you have not seen the news, then,” she said.

  
“No--” Merlin found her coat being thrust into his arms.

  
“Well, concisely put, I've been exposed. I need somewhere to stay where the paparazzi can't find me.” She strode down his hall with the same self assurance as Arthur had, pulling the little suitcase behind her and leaving Merlin a little non-plussed.

  
Merlin followed behind her “Ms. Le Fey, I have a guest --”

  
She'd already crested the doorway into the living room where Morgana suddenly pulled up short. He peered around her to see Arthur and Morgana staring at each other, each looking shocked.

  
“Anna,” Arthur said, stunned. He was half off the couch, half on, suspended mid-transition. In a rush he righted himself and soothed his suit down.

  
“ _Mor_ gana,” Morgana snapped. She whirled to glare at Merlin. “Did you plan this?” she said, her voice ripe with disgusted temper.  
“Plan what?” He looked between the two of them. They way Arthur looked stunned and soft and pleased, and Morgana like she wanted to spit nails. “...You two know each other?”

  
Morgana snorted.

  
Arthur's gaze didn't leave Morgana. “We do. Merlin, Morgana is my foster sister, I've been trying to contact her for years. Christ, Anna.”

  
Merlin's stomach clenched in sharp, horrible comprehension as he recalled Morgana's stark life story, replaying in his mind like a series of horrible snapshots, as he understood all the implications.

  
“Jesus,” he heard himself whisper.

  
Morgana turned and began stalking towards the door once more.

  
“Anna, wait!” Arthur rose and followed after her, but Merlin stayed him, gripped his arm.

  
“Wait,” he implored.

  
Arthur tried to shake him off. “That's my sister, dammit!”

  
“And she doesn't want to see you right now -- Just, fuck, Arthur, for once! Don't argue with me, stay here!” He tightened his hold on Arthur's wrist, eyes boring into his, trying to press the order into Arthur's skin. He could see the want in his face, the need to chase after his foster-sister, but Merlin's stringency had touched a chord, so after a last longing look down the hall he hefted a sigh and nodded to Merlin.

  
Merlin left him behind, chasing after Morgana. She'd exited the apartment already, had donned her sunglasses, striding along with a resolution that appeared to be inherent to Pendragon blood.

  
“Ms. Le Fey, wait!”

  
Merlin caught her at the end near the exit, grasping her elbow which she wrenched from him with a snarl. “Don't touch me!”

  
He raised his hands, and put a few feet of space between them. “It's okay.”

  
“No, Professor, it is not okay. Now, if you'll pardon me,” Morgana said, and attempted to walk past him.

  
Merlin barred the way. “You came to me because you felt like you could trust me.”

  
“That was before I found my brother in your apartment!” Morgana hissed.

  
“I had no idea he was your brother. I know Arthur because his friend, Lance is dating my friend, Gwen. They met chaperoning at Spring Run.” Merlin said, making sure his words were slow and calm. Something about them gave Morgana pause, and she stilled, so Merlin carried on. “He was here for a Halloween party. He's my friend. Kind of.”

  
“...I remember Lance,” Morgana said. “Is he still sainted?” She was staring at the exit door, her tone having turned suddenly soft. Under the anger Merlin saw weariness and pain. She'd said she'd been exposed. He'd thought she might have been gleeful about the news hitting the airwaves, but that seemed not to be the case.

  
He offered a smile. “Yeah. He and Gwen are basically the ideal couple made up of a saint and an angel of mercy.”

  
Morgana said nothing to that.

  
“Let me help, Morgana.” Merlin urged. “I don't know if staying here would be a good idea, on the off chance someone puts two and two together, but Gwen, or, my friend Freya. I trust them with my life. They'll hide you, and no one would think to look with them.”

  
The offer hung in the air with Morgana clearly hesitant to take it.

  
“Just one night, get your bearings. Some sleep.”

  
Morgana closed her eyes, and Merlin knew it was in submission.

  
“Fine,” she said, voice thin. “Fix it.”

 

 

When Merlin got back into his apartment Arthur was pacing the length of the room. As soon as he saw Merlin he was upon him.  
“Well?”

  
Merlin pressed past him and to his desk where his laptop was set up. He pulled it open. It took only a few clicks to open up a news page, and there it was, blaring. _Fashion Icon Morgana Le Fey a Theta_ over the top of one of her most iconic photos. There followed the breaking coverage of Morgana's sexugender via an unnamed source, and the varied responses. Outrage, support, shock and the usual questioning of this being a valid news topic.

  
Behind him he heard Arthur inhale in shock.

  
Merlin tilted up to look at him. “Did you know?”

  
Arthur swallowed and shrugged, turning away from the computer. “She ran away when we were in high school, then became an alpha model. I assumed it was fake. She wasn't really big on omega virtues.”

  
Merlin closed the laptop and rose. He watched Arthur sink down onto the couch and take his head into his hands. He sat like that for a long few moments before looking up at Merlin with a tight expression.

  
“You knew,” Arthur said.

  
Merlin nodded.

  
“How?”

  
“She told me.”

  
“Christ,” Arthur let his head drop again, rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. He stood again, and paced the length of the couch, back and forth, back and forth. His mouth was in a grim line, and there was a focus at his brows, the way they gnarled with purpose.

  
“What happened? Where has she gone?” Arthur demanded of Merlin.

  
“It's not my story to tell,” Merlin said. He knew Arthur wasn't going to like that, but he couldn't in good conscience break what was still a confidence.

  
“That's crap, Merlin, she's my foster sister, I have a right to know!”

  
Merlin shook his head. “If Morgana wants you to know anything, it's her choice to tell you.”

  
Arthur turned away with a rough frustrated sound. “Of course not. Merlin, the keeper of confidences and the champion of gender rights, never mind familial ones.”

  
Merlin pressed his hands together and rubbed the sides of the mated index fingers at the bridge of his nose. He couldn't think. After a cruddy day and an hour or so arguing with Arthur, he was already tired. Now his mind was in a whirlwind. He could feel Arthur's disposition filling the room like a thick smoke, stifling his ability to breathe. “You have to go, Arthur.”

  
“And now you're kicking me out, fantastic,” Arthur said, nails in the words.

  
“I'm not kicking you out, I'm asking you nicely to leave so I have some peace and quiet to think.”

  
“It sounds a lot like kicking me out.”

  
The snotty tone burned through the last of Merlin's patience.

  
He picked up Arthur's coat and thrust it into his hands. “Yes, fuck, if you're determined to be offended, flounce off in a huff while I try to think of ways to help your sister deal with her current exposure and public backlash and maybe, maybe get you a chance to see her. But I can't do either of those things with you panting your displeasure over my shoulder.” He began shoving Arthur towards the door when he made no move to go there under his own steam.

  
“You're going to help me...?” Arthur said doubtfully, moving jerkily along under Merlin's impetus.

  
“I said maybe. Now get out.” And Merlin clipped the door closed in Arthur's hopeful, stunned face.

 

 

ᴥ

 

  
 _Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

  
 _Subject: Le Fey, Morgana_

  
_Sexugender./Physiogender: Theta/female_

  
_Orientation: Femsexual_

  
_Marital Status: Single_

  
_It seems like a simple question, doesn't it? Why didn't you turn him in to the police?_

  
_I was seventeen by this time and I knew what awaited me. Police interviews, doubt, ostracism by my peers, rumors, endless publicity. I'd have to wait a year before accessing the money entitled to me by birth, and until then it would be legal hell. Probably for years after, too. Some people wouldn't believe me._

  
_But that's not the reason._

  
_He wanted to control me. If I'd have gone to the police, it would have been a massive scandal. There's no way it wouldn't have leaked to the press, and then? Then, for my entire life my national identity would have been the girl whose guardian wanted to cut her dick off. That would have been who I was. People would argue whether I made it up and what kind of delusions I had to concoct such a falsehood. My father's influential friends would have spoken with eloquence about how good he was and how impossible the allegations were against this kind, Christian man who took a little orphan girl into his home. Talk show hosts and comedians would have made jokes about me, and extreme groups would have advocated he did the right thing, and there would have been offers for a melodramatic television movie and no matter where I went, what job I applied for, that would be the first thing people thought of. 'Isn't she that theta who was almost gelded?'._

  
_I'm sure I could have gotten a job advocating gender rights easily. I could have been a poster child for theta abuse. He'd be controlling my work life, subtly. And for my whole life I'd be known as a victim. No one would think of me and not think of my father, too. He'd have lost everything, and sometimes I wish I had taken it from him, since his public standing was one of the few things he really loved. Mostly though, I wanted to be free of him, I didn't need him. I didn't want our names linked together._

  
_And every time someone snaps a photo of me with my cock on display and puts it on a building, I think 'Fuck you, Daddy' and pray he has apoplexy when he sees it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with references to 43 different fandoms/books/television shows/movies.
> 
> Christine Garver-Apgar's study at the University of New Mexico is a real study, only, with men and women rather than a/b/o, obviously. I encourage you to check it out. It's often called 'The Sweaty T-shirt Study'. All the science about HLAs is also true.
> 
> I feel like I'm forgetting something.
> 
> Costume links, for fun.  
> Merlin's: http://images.halloweencostumes.com/products/8653/1-1/adult-plus-size-batgirl-costume.jpg
> 
> Arthur's: http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/32300000/Kill-Bill-The-Bride-Cosplay-Costume-kill-bill-32311741-500-500.jpg
> 
> Sophia's: http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=&imgrefurl=http%3A%2F%2Felitedaily.com%2Fslideshows%2Ffavorite-childhood-cartoon-costumes-worn-sexy-women%2F&h=0&w=0&tbnid=4kx_GOqaBhhw1M&tbnh=183&tbnw=275&zoom=1&docid=RtiGwCGyV5-3NM&hl=en&ei=YBsmU9CDJYOBogSVsIDYBA&ved=0CAsQsCUoAw


	5. 5. Bringing it all Back Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, massive props to Stray and Kestral Sparhawk who continue to put up with my massive amounts of bullshit (and commas, or, not-commas, as the case may be). 
> 
> And wow, chapter four response! I was not expecting that! I enormously enjoyed reading all the different perspectives on Merlin and Arthur, your thoughts and reactions and the debate. I appreciate anyone who stopped by and added to the discussion, and thank you for both reading and taking the time to share your well-thought out impressions.
> 
> Onto fic!

Heart in a Headlock  
Chapter 5: Bringing It All Back Again

Freya was of such a mellow disposition that providing a top secret refuge for a high fashion model dumped on her at nine o'clock at night to sleep on her pull-out was met with the airy response of 'Oh, okay. At least I won't need to worry about feeding her'. Still, Merlin explained the utmost need for secrecy to Freya, though she came to grips with the situation fairly quickly, and offered Morgana a safe place to stay as long as was needed.

  
Promises of both Freya's trustworthiness and hygiene were made, directions were given and Morgana sped off in a taxi. Merlin kept in constant text communication with Freya to be sure all went well.

  
Merlin, once he made sure Arthur left, read as much of the breaking coverage as possible. It seemed to feature on all the big websites, and he even ventured into some fashion blogs and Tumblr to get the temperature of the response from the comments. It all varied. There were enthusiastic exclamations along the line of 'FUCK YEAH !!1!1!!' all the way to bemoaning the denigration of the fashion industry. It seemed like everyone had something to say about Morgana being a theta, for good or ill. There was more positive than not, though the negative responses seemed to fall into three camps: the public nature of the deception, rage at thetas representing alphas, and unhappiness that she was misrepresenting herself and therefore implying being a theta was worth hiding. All of this came with a side helping of comments viewing her as sexually available now, her sudden possession of a womb in addition to her cock making it open season for sexism. Merlin lost count of how many times it was mentioned she should go to the kitchen and make sandwiches. He hated public comment sections. They were almost always depressingly hideous as a barometer for human virtue.

  
More interestingly, it appeared Morgana had not made a statement of any kind. All the articles referred to her lack of comment on her outing. It seemed that everyone else had something to say: fashion designers she'd worked with, products she'd been spokesperson for, ad campaigns she'd featured in, magazines she'd appeared in, models and celebrities she worked with, on and on. With a few exceptions, Merlin didn't recognize most of the people, so in addition to reading the coverage he had to look up a number of names, which ranged from celebrities to fashion houses. It helped him get a full scope on how many and who was weighing in with messages of support for Morgana.

  
Yet, lack of comment or availability of the woman herself was whipping up the crowd into a froth.

  
Merlin went to bed, his mind whirling with thoughts about Morgana.

  
His dreams ended up full of Arthur. Again.

  
He rarely had a night now when he didn't dream of Arthur. Since that particular dream Gwen roused him from in July, he hadn't dreamed of having actual penetrative sex with Arthur again. His dreams were still often intensely sexual, but instead, he'd be watching Arthur stimulating himself or Arthur engaging with vague featureless figures. More frequently, he and Arthur might be partaking in an innocuous activity, like Arthur stroking his hair or just lying together, and despite the commonplace nature of the actions, they took on deeply erotic dimensions within the dream.

  
The sexual dreams were among a compilation of Arthur Options for his nocturnal flights of fancy. There were also other dreams about or including Arthur; chief of these and reoccurring, a naked Merlin sitting on the banks of a frothing, roiling, muddy river, with Arthur standing on the distant bank.

  
Merlin actively chose not to pursue any lines of thought regarding the meaning of the dreams. However, seeing Arthur every night was putting him on edge more than he liked.

  
Merlin rose far earlier than he would normally on a Saturday, just to escape the nightly teasing. After a hurried shower, he dressed and headed to Starbucks. He got Freya her usual, and gambled on a black coffee for Morgana.

  
He arrived at Freya's with the paper holder of cups, and had to knock at her door several times before Freya answered, her fingers covered in charcoal.

  
She blinked at him with the owlish uncertainty of an artist still in the zone before smiling. “Oh, frappaccino!” She took her cup, leaving smudgy prints all over it and wandered into her apartment, leaving the door wide open.

  
Merlin came in, closed and locked it.

  
Freya had headed back to her stool in the middle of the sunlit loft apartment, the roof filled with skylights. It was theoretically a living room, but was mostly her art studio. The couch had been covered in a paint smeared sheet and afghan for so long that Merlin couldn't remember what color it really was. Or if it was even the same couch.

  
Morgana was sprawled on a chaise lounge under the light, naked.

  
Merlin stumbled when he beheld Morgana au natural almost upset the two remaining coffees in the paper beverage tray. It wasn't that he hadn't seen her mostly naked on billboards for years, but this was still a surprise.

  
“Good morning, Merlin,” Morgana said, but didn't so much as lift her head from her decadent sprawl on her side. Her legs were splayed to expose the hairless expanse between them in a peek-a-boo kind of way; the silky length of her alpha phallus was tucked in placid repose along the milky flesh of a thigh, only a faint, ripe plumpness at the base indicating the retracted knot. She so precisely posed that both her phallus and the curving lips of her labia beneath the pink sac holding her testicles were on display, but in a graceful tumbled way. That mood, of rumpled sensuality, was prominent in the big sketchpad with half a drawing on it that Merlin saw leaned against Freya's stool.

  
And, honestly, she was a gorgeous specimen, Merlin had to admit. He was fascinated by the two genitals existing in the same space, the rosy hairless skin maximizing visibility to see how her unusual fusing of parts came together. He didn't want to be caught staring though, even if she was playing model for Freya. Staring at someone's exposed junk without permission seemed rude, even if she hadn't covered up.

  
Also, he didn't need to be wondering if Arthur's equipment was comparable. He pulled his gaze upwards, hoping she hadn't noticed. She hadn't. Morgana's eyes were on an iPhone in an emerald green case, which sat nearby on an accent table beside her.

  
No one seemed perturbed, so Merlin said, “Uh, Morning,”

  
Freya relieved him of the paper cup holder. “He brought you coffee,” she said, and bore it off to set it on the table beside the phone. “I'll get the doughnuts.” Then she wandered towards the kitchen, sipping her drink, leaving Morgana to eye the cup in addition to her phone.

  
Merlin followed Freya into the small alcove and saw a pink bakery box waiting. He guessed an early morning run had been made to appease some need for comforting sugar.

  
“How's she doing?” he asked in the semi-privacy of the kitchen.

  
Freya nudged open the box and offered it to Merlin. “A bit all over the place, really. Drawing her seems to cheer her up; she likes being admired.”

  
Merlin nodded and selected a plain glazed doughnut.

  
“She slept a long time, and she must be a deep sleeper. Her phone was going off all night, but it didn't wake her up.” Freya selected one with sprinkles, and then looked thoughtful. “I haven't seen her look at any of them, or listen to the messages. Sometimes she glances at the screen to see who sent them, but that's it.”

  
“She left without giving a statement. Everyone and their mother wants to get a hold of her,” Merlin said.

  
They both bit into their doughnuts and chewed in a thoughtful silence for a moment.

  
“Did you talk to her?” Merlin asked before wolfing his doughnut down quickly and chasing it with slurps of coffee.

  
Freya shrugged. “She hasn't been in the mood. When she was feeling better, I was going to ask her about Annie Liebowitz.”

  
With this information absorbed, Merlin headed back into the main room. Morgana was sipping her drink, eyes closed. They flicked open when his feet sounded on the wooden flooring near her. She watched Merlin pull one of the dining table chairs over to her and settle himself.

  
Freya had brought the doughnut box with her. As Merlin sat she offered it to Morgana.

  
“Carbs,” Morgana said with gruff disdain. She stared at the box vehemently, then sighed and took an old fashioned doughnut anyway. She broke off one of the flanges and took tiny bites of it, consuming it as sparingly as possible.

  
Freya left the box nearby and once licking the sticky sugar icing off her fingers picked up her sketchbook to resumed drawing.  
Morgana's phone went off again.

  
“Going to answer it?” Merlin asked.

  
Morgana shook her head, finished the edge of doughnut and began fiddling with another.

  
“Mind if I look?”

  
Morgana shrugged.

  
Merlin set down his coffee cup and picked up the iPhone. After a moment he'd accessed missed calls. He recognized the name of the lawyer he'd dealt with the previous year listed several times, interspersed with some unfamiliar names, and then a few familiar ones; Ellen Degeneres, Gisele and Vera Wang. The one who had called the most though was someone called Eira.

  
“Eira wants to talk to you. Badly,” he said.

  
“My PA,” Morgana said dismissively and rolled onto her back. She seemed to have given up being dainty about it and began to devour the doughnut in big greedy bites. The glaze cracked and dropped little pieces in a trail between her breasts to her mouth. Freya flicked to a new page in the big sketchbook and began sketching anew.

  
It was a picture worth a thousand words, really.

  
Still, Merlin felt bad for the faceless Eira. He could only imagine the deluge the PA was receiving, and with no orders from her boss.

The doughnut disappeared and Morgana made gimme hands towards the box. Merlin sighed and went to bring it to her. She selected a cruller this time.

“Don't you think you might want to contact one or two of these people? I bet some of them are worried,” Merlin said, sinking down onto his chair once more, the doughnut box on his lap. “At least let them know you're alive?”

“One of them sold me out. They can all burn in hell.”

“There must be someone on this contact list you can trust …” Merlin said as he perused the list of names she had saved, many of them with a European bent he assumed meant they were in the fashion industry and one or two he recognized. “Look, Beyonce called, she seems nice.”

Morgana snorted. “Tell her, and her entire family and entourage knows in three minutes flat-- Christ, why can't I have a cigarette?”

“They're bad for you,” Freya said from her side of the couch.

“I need one.”

Freya shrugged. “Go outside.”

  
“I can't,” Morgana said. “Someone might see me and call the papers for a fat cash grab.”

  
Merlin thought it interesting that, having never met Freya before, Morgana seemed to trust her. And Merlin, come to that.

  
“It's all right, they're bad for you anyway. We'll get you the patch,” Freya said.

  
Morgana made a frustrated noise. “Give me another damn doughnut.”

  
Merlin handed out one with chocolate sprinkles, which added a nice contrast to the translucent white of the glaze trail. Morgana started in on it and then fixed her gaze on Merlin as if fully understanding his presence for the first time.  
“What were you doing with Arthur?” she asked sharply.

  
Merlin closed the lid to the box and set it down. He then folded his hands and looked steadily at Morgana. “Freya and I met him at Spring Run.”

  
“Merlin, and our friend, Gwen, chaperoned me,” Freya added.

  
“Lance was there chaperoning Arthur, and Lance and Gwen kind of hit it off. They've been seeing each other for four months now,” Merlin reported. “And you know how Arthur is about pack, and keeping an eye on it.”

  
Morgana chewed her bite of doughnut aggressively before speaking. “Our delightful father had this idea about the slow demise of traditional pack values. Still does, according to his speeches. He's one of those staunch believers in the alpha as the head of the family with absolute authority, no exceptions.”

  
Merlin nodded. That wasn't really news, as Merlin had heard much the same from Uther's own televised lips, though the language was usually somewhat grandiloquent to obfuscate his true meaning.

  
Morgana spoke in between bites of her doughnut. “Apparently, you should feel privileged to give control of your life to a Grand Alpha. He had a whole cluster of people he marked as pack; the family doctor, his lawyer, his PA, secretary, his mistresses. They were only too happy to have the privilege. Arthur and me, too. Only he used to have the nanny get it done. He had it in his planner; every six months to the day, the ewer would come out.”

  
“The ewer?” Merlin said. He knew it wasn't relevant, but somehow he just had to know.

  
“Oh yes. White-green jade, carved with a dragon. Ming dynasty. Incredibly ornate and beautiful. $20,000 at Christies. He bought it before we were old enough to understand its value, but wasted no time in telling us when we were older. Apparently it was one of the few things befitting his sacred aquarichor. He'd fill it up and the nanny, or, later the housekeeper, would come bearing it on a tray -- Victorian, solid silver, $6,000 – and we'd have to go into the shower with this woman waiting right outside and dump it down us. Then wait for it to air dry. Then we dressed, and reported down for one of the few sit-down dinners we shared together, to be sure we smelled adequately. The civilized way, he called it.” Morgana snorted then, and reached for her coffee to take deep pulls.

  
Merlin chewed on that a moment before storing it away for later contemplation. He cleared his throat. “Well, Arthur still feels strongly about pack, and he takes it seriously. Gwen and Lance had this Halloween party this weekend, so Lance's pack was invited. Only Leon and Arthur were there, the other two -- uh, Mithian and Percy? – they couldn't make it.”

  
Merlin paused a moment before adding, “Arthur and I are something approaching friends. He's kind of a dick.”

  
“I think he's a good guy,” Freya piped up. “Only, it gets lost under all the other stuff.”

  
Merlin didn't quite know what to say to that, so he ventured back to the core of the topic. He caught Morgana's eyes and did his best to press pure honesty into his words as he said, “I didn't know Arthur was your brother.”

  
Morgana stared back, chewing slowly now, and then searching his face. He could see her suspicion, but he could also see her hope, how much she wanted to believe him. Under his gaze she set it aside, eyes dropping away to consume the last bit of her doughnut.

  
Merlin decided to let that be, for now. Instead, he asked, “What are you going to do, Morgana? Eventually you have to talk to your legal representatives, the press.”

  
“But not Arthur? Aren't you here to beg me to see him?” Morgana said, eyes leaping back to Merlin with spiked probing.  
“No. I'm more concerned with what your next move is,” Merlin countered.

  
“You're welcome to stay here as long as you need,” Freya added, “but he's right. Eventually you'll have to talk to people.”  
Morgana turned her face away from them, refusing to answer.

  
Merlin decided it was enough for now. He was confident that leaving Morgana in Freya's hands was the best thing for her at the moment. He'd given her plenty of food for thought. And doughnuts.

 

 

As he left the building some minutes later his phone went off. It was Gwen.

  
“Tell me,” she said upon connection, “that you did not meet Morgana le Fey and fail completely to both dish and get me her autograph!”

  
“You're a doctor, you're supposed to know about the whole confidentiality thing,” Merlin said.

  
“Ugh, spoilsport.”

  
“I take it Arthur is there?”

  
“Hang on,” Gwen said. There were some muffled sounds, the snap of a door, then she continued in a slightly lower voice. “He was. He, Lance and Leon had a sort of private pow-wow, or it would have been private except it was at my house and I was there serving breakfast, and I can still hear things if I step in the other room, which, duh. I think Arthur trusts me, which is nice, except I feel like I'm keeping secrets from him, betraying his trust telling you what I overhear, but at the same time I'm kind of ticked he just assumes I belong to him, because of Lance. He isn't my alpha, and I--”

  
“Gwen,” Merlin interrupted as he climbed into his car and sat down.

  
“Mm? Oh, I'm not going to tell him about you. What kind of friend would I be if I tattled on your most intimate doings? But it's going to be your poopy bed you're making and you are going to have to lie in it when the shit hits the fan. I am just expressing faint nausea.”

  
“Well, thank you for that crap-laden metaphor. What was the pow-wow about?”

  
“Morgana, or -- Anna, I guess? Lots of upset, but Arthur isn't going to tell his father. Leon thought he should, because I guess Uther is their Grand Alpha? Which, I thought Arthur was..?”

  
“It's an old fashioned pack thing most people don't do any more. Grand Alpha on High was a term for the highest alpha in the rexpack hierarchy. A Grand Alpha on High, like a high king, and a bunch of Demi-Grand Alphas with their own packs. Technically, Arthur is a Demi-Grand Alpha in terms of that larger structure, because he would answer to his Grand Alpha on High, Uther Pendragon. But to his pack, Lance, Leon, Mithian and Percy, he's Grand Alpha, because he's the superior Alpha in the pack, so—”

  
“Merlin, we're not in class.”

  
“Sorry. But, yeah. If Arthur adheres to that structure, he should report having seen Morgana to his Grand Alpha on High.”

  
“Well, he's not.”

  
Merlin let out a little sigh of relief.

  
Gwen continued. “But he is unhappy. And he does want to speak with her, badly, but there's something with work, it sounds like? He can't take any more time than what he allotted for the party.”

  
“Okay, okay,” Merlin murmured and rubbed his face. Antsy Arthur, suspicious Morgana. “What are they doing now?”

  
“I belieeeeeve....” Her voice went quiet, except for soft breathing. After a moment she whispered, “I think they're going to see you.”

  
Sure enough Merlin's phone began to buzz. Incoming call from Arthur. Merlin sent it to voicemail. No offense, Arthur.

  
“Did he just call you?” Gwen asked.

  
“I didn't answer.”

  
“I know… Now they're going to your apartment,” Gwen said.

  
Merlin rested his forehead against the steering wheel. “Fantastic.”

 

ᴥ

  
Merlin headed back upstairs to Freya's apartment to impart detailed instructions about not opening the door to anyone and to pretend she wasn't home, no matter what. Merlin doubted it would take Arthur long to put together where Morgana was -- after all, if Merlin wasn't harboring her, he'd send Morgana to someone he trusted, and options were limited.

  
Merlin was tempted to move Morgana to Finna's, but seeing as the doughnut trail across her chest now included white glaze, chocolate sprinkles, chocolate frosting and colored sprinkles, Merlin decided she was better off where she was for the moment. Any sudden upheavals with that much sugar in a diet that looked as if it consisted solely on endive and bottled water could produce disastrous results. In addition, there was the chance that it would pull Arthur into Finna's orbit, and somehow that clash nearly made Merlin break out in hives for all the potential disaster it implied.

  
Rather than going back to his apartment, where Arthur had set up camp, Merlin instead went to the college. The campus was quiet and sparsely occupied, only a few things going on on Saturdays.

  
His office was still stacked with the books he'd abandoned a few days earlier. He didn't feel any more in the mood for them now, nor for the pile of things in his inbox, but he'd decided he wasn't going home until Arthur gave up and went elsewhere, with Gwen acting as his faithful informant on Arthur's movements. He apparently now owed Gwen flowers for her stellar performance as a double agent. Merlin thought her insistence on calling him by the codename 'Bedwetter ' nullified any extortion.

  
Merlin made himself deal with the assortment of paperwork he'd been putting off. It took three hours and was supremely dull, but when he'd finished he felt a sense of accomplishment. He wouldn't have any outstanding tasks lingering at the back of his mind; he was rapidly running out of space even in those far reaches.

  
Once finished he began reading the backlogged literature until his eyes felt dusty. Then he booted up his laptop.  
There was an email waiting from Gwaine.

 

**Merlin,**   
**Analyzed pill. Not a recreational drug. Friend probably not a drug addict.**   
**G**

Merlin frowned and pulled out his phone and called Gwaine. Gwaine answered on the second try, out of breath. He was at his weekend soccer match, but after much cajoling agreed to meet Merlin when he was finished.

  
Merlin killed the next few hours by forcing himself into research mode. He wasn’t as productive as he might have been, though. For starters, his mind refused to stay on task; it kept wandering to the morass that was Morgana, the dilemma of Daegal, the state of his study and most of all the association with Arthur. If those distractions weren't enough, Freya kept texting updates on Morgana, Gwen texted with updates on Arthur and Arthur texted with miscellaneous complaints. After a while, Merlin silenced his phone to escape the deluge and focus.

  
As three o'clock approached, Merlin put his work aside and made the brisk walk across campus to the science building. He loitered around staring at a milky silver sky until Gwaine arrived, still wet from a shower and looking much improved after Friday's hung over selfie.

  
“Good game?” Merlin asked as Gwaine let them in and they headed for the stairs.

  
“Not bad, but tell me why I'm here on a Saturday and not having an after-match drink with the lads?”

  
“Your email was a little sparse.”

  
“All this for a pilfered pill?” Gwaine asked as he leaned against the door to his lab, watching Merlin with an intrigued expression.

  
“It has my curiosity piqued,” Merlin said. “I'll buy you a whole bottle of whiskey.”

  
Gwaine's expression turned just slightly cagey. “Why don't we just say you owe me one?” He turned to open the door.

  
The lights illuminated a surprisingly tidy if somewhat small laboratory. Excluding the desk – it was a rather disastrous mound of mess, worked into the crevices between such bric-a-brac as the change pot reading _Poker Money_ and a crazy looking leprechaun statue wearing a lab coat. Gwaine went right to it, plunked down in the chair and began to paw through the piles.

  
“I've got the paperwork 'round here somewhere,” he said, then gave a pleased sound when he pulled out some crumpled pages stapled together along with the plastic bag with about a third of the pill remaining, and some pink powder at the bottom. “Here they are.”

  
“I'm sure administration loves you,” Merlin said, eying the desk.

  
“They do, as it happens. I'm ruggedly handsome with a charming accent,” Gwaine said. “And I'll only have a TA who is good with an iron and can press my paperwork into ingratiating neatness.”

  
He began rifling the pages of the document, clearly refreshing himself with the material.

  
“What was it? The pill?” Merlin sidled to stand behind him and peer down at the page.

  
“I couldn't rightly tell you,” Gwaine admitted. He handed the pages to Merlin, then cupped his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, the picture of ease.

  
Merlin took the papers. Chemistry jargon littered the page like cigarette butts outside a bar. Still, he frowned at it, sinking to sit on one of the rolling stools. “Uh, any chance of a translation?”

  
“Well, they're not happy pills, or pain pills. My first guess was you'd stolen someone's anti-depressants,” Gwaine said. He creaked up from the chair and plucked the pages from Merlin as he crossed to one of the white boards. He erased the goofy drawing of an anthropomorphic beaker and copied out a molecular structure. He tapped it when done.

  
“... But?” Merlin prompted.

  
“It isn't. Now, I'm not up and up with my medical pharmaceuticals, but I think it's a eugeroic.” The pen squeaked as he added a chemical formula: C 15H15NO3S.

  
The name rang a bell, but nothing loud enough to get an answer. Merlin furrowed his brow at Gwaine and then at the formula.  
Gwaine chuckled. “It's a 'wakefulness-promoting agent', a psychoactive drug. But, unlike others, it's non-addicting, so people on them don't form those nasty habits that send them off to the crap coffee at NA. But, among other things, we've also got this nice little hanger on.” The pen squeaked again. [C](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carbon)21[H](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hydrogen)30[O](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oxygen)2. Gwaine capped his pen with a playful flourish and stood back from the board.

  
Merlin squinted. Then blinked. “... But that's THC. Tetrahydrocannabinol.”

  
“Exactly. The fun psychoactive part of cannabis,” Gwaine grinned. “And a favorite topic in my end-of-term lectures.”

  
“But it's not a happy pill, you said,” Merlin said, a little confused. He was not up with his drug jargon, never having been a big fan. Oh, he'd smoked a joint in college, had a marijuana brownie, but pot made him feel as if he'd lost tune with the world. The mellow feeling made him feel like his control was slipping away, which he supposed was the appeal for some people. He personally didn't care for it.

  
“No, I don't think so. The THC is working to amplify this,” he tapped the first equation. “Rather than being the point of it.”  
Merlin went to the desk and picked up the bag with the remainder of the pill in it. He squinted at it. “Then what is this meant to be doing?”

  
“That's the thing,” Gwaine said, and crossed his arms. “I've no idea. It's a medication, but as far as I can tell it's not one on the market. Where'd it come from again?”

  
“An unmarked bottle from the dorms,” Merlin said.

Gwaine strolled back to his desk and picked up his office keys whence he'd dropped them. “Well, there you are. The THC, it's probably some undergraduate trying to create their own designer drug. Some of them get mad ideas about cooking up the next big thing.”

“Yeah, but he was a pre-med, the kid who had this. If he made it, wouldn't this take some serious chemistry?” Merlin collected the papers and flipped through them. It was still gobbledygook, but he recognized the chemical formulas Gwaine had written on the white board.

“You'd be surprised how little effort goes into homework and how much into trying to create the new party popper that will make millionaires. But I doubt that stuff would give anyone a buzz worth mentioning,” Gwaine flicked the bag and gestured for Merlin to exit. “They aren't necessarily good at their designs.”

Somehow the idea of a student cooking this up bothered Merlin. It didn't feel right. What would a serious pre-med student be doing with something experimental, even if his vice was pharmaceutical? It couldn't have been giving him enough of a buzz. If he was a habitual user why not stick with whatever his drug of choice already was, rather than use a sub-par product? If he was new, how did he run into something experimental, rather than the more common weed or ecstasy found in any place college kids congregated? So, not a happy fun time drug.

“You said 'wakefulness-promoting' is it like Stay-Up, then?” Merlin asked.

Gwaine rubbed his bristly chin in consideration, “I think most eugeroic fall into that category, but, my guess? Whatever it is, it's not strictly keeping the lad awake for his lectures. Too much going on.”

“Maybe a chemical study aide?” Merlin posited.

Gwaine shrugged. “Honestly, I don't know enough about pharmaceuticals. You might ask Gwen, it's a bit more in her field than mine,”

Merlin nodded, holding up the baggie to stare at what remained of the pill. He slid his fingers over the powder, feeling the grit of it through the thin layers of plastic.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” he muttered, which felt fitting with his recent down-the-rabbit-hole experinces. Drugs were par for the course. The only thing missing was 'EAT ME' printed on the pill itself to make him feel properly like Alice.

“Thanks, Gwaine,” he said, lowering the bag.

“It's not a problem, but try to avoid my weekend matches, yeah?”

Merlin smiled. “I'll try. Hey, could you not mention this to anyone? At least until I've got it sorted out?”

Gwaine grinned. “Got a bit of private dick in you, then?”

Merlin rolled his eyes.

Gwaine tugged him by his sleeve. “Come on. I'm after a pint. Join me?”

“No,” Merlin said, but let Gwaine drag him along. “I've got some stuff.”

  
Gwaine cajoled and teased, but once they got downstairs he went off to catch his soccer (“Football, Merlin, Christ!”) buddies and Merlin walked back across campus.

  
Strait-laced pre-med students with caring families falling off the track was an old story. Still. Was Edward Cullen the drug maker or a guinea pig? Something about it didn't feel right, but Merlin suspected he was holding the reason for Edward's mood swings in his hands. If he hadn't made it, where had he gotten it? If it wasn't a party pill, what was it meant to do? Merlin trudged back to his office, brain finally distracted from his myriad of interpersonal problems by the question of the baggie and its contents.  
Four hours later Merlin's head was full of information on eugeroics, but wasn't sure he had learned anything useful. He quit the internet search and tried to make headway with his books for his paper, but after an hour and a half of that, he threw in the towel.

  
When he turned on his phone, Gwen's most recent text read that she'd convinced the pack to grab some Mexican food. Merlin gave a sigh of relief and packed up to leave. On impulse, he made a copy of the pages with the chemical analysis of the pill, and locked the originals in one of his drawers. Just in case there was a rogue fire, he wanted to have a copy of the findings.  
When he arrived at Freya's some half an hour later, Morgana was wearing clothes once more; what were probably designer slacks and an emerald green cashmere sweater. Freya was unchanged from her earlier painting wardrobe and answered the door with a smile and the news that all had been peaceful; no one had been there to visit them.

  
Morgana had her eyes fixed on the television screen while her hands were a blur of activity, knitting. She had a pair of wooden needles that made a soft tip-tip-tapping sound as they engaged to furl a tufty ochre yarn into a scarf.

  
A skeletal and severely stylish woman was boredly telling the microphone shoved in her face on-screen “...Of course I knew, it's been a big industry secret, for those of a certain position,...”

  
Morgana snorted. “Bullshit. She's such a coked-up lush it's not as if she can even remember the two times we fucked. I could have had a candy-striped proboscis down there and it wouldn't have made an impact.”

  
“...Long day?” Merlin hazarded. Watching the entertainment news channel did not seem to be the best of choices, but then, Morgana was learning which of her acquaintances were shameless media whores. Merlin couldn't think that was wholly useless, though it was also clearly disheartening.

  
“Have you thought about what you're going to say?” he asked, once he'd seated himself in the chair perpendicular to the couch. He sat forward, his elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped, putting his full attention on Morgana.

  
“Not in the slightest,” she said, eyes never leaving the screen.

  
“Morgana--”

  
“I need to see what they're saying about me.”

  
Merlin glanced at Freya and caught her eye. She nodded and then uncurled, and went into her bedroom with her sketchpad in tow. She closed the door behind her.

  
In privacy, Merlin grabbed the remote and killed the television. Morgana shot him a miffed sort of look, but didn't cease her knitting.

  
“I don't know you well,” Merlin began, “but the woman I met last year was amused by the world's ignorance of her. She took risks, but she was also a planner. I refuse to think you didn't have some kind of plan for this.”

  
Morgana raised an eyebrow at him. Merlin met her gaze, clearly designed to make him wilt. He pressed on.

  
“Remaining incommunicado only makes them more desperate for any scrap of information...” As Merlin spoke the words aloud something clicked. Or, at least, the suspicion of something.

  
Morgana smiled sweetly at him. “Yes. Disappearing has only made them froth at the mouth, hasn't it? Tyra even called me, and she's had me on her shit list since the weave incident.”

  
“You want this media storm? I mean - the hashtag #LeFeyVajayjay is trending.” Actually, Merlin wasn't sure what that meant, but some media sites seemed to think it was vastly important.

  
Morgana shrugged. “It's coverage.”

  
It occurred to Merlin then, as he sat there, looking at the lovely Morgana le Fey knitting on his friend, Freya's, couch that he had entered, more actively than ever before, the public history of gender politics. Sure, public access television and dry studies were one thing, but this? This was a level of celebrity he'd not ever predicted he would be near. For the moment Morgana was keeping it secret, but someday? Someday she'd write a tell-all autobiography, or, after her death, someone else would write her biography or make a documentary. There was no way the tale of her public outing and whatever fall-out happened after would be excluded. It was a major life event. If that were so, then his participation would be noted.

  
Or would it? To link Morgana to him would be to link her to his study, and so she would expose all those things she wanted to remain secret.

  
He didn't understand her.

  
Morgana tugged on her yarn and carried on before Merlin could stop chewing on his thoughts. “You're right, I did have a time table for coming out. This is just all much more ahead of schedule than I planned. It's very irritating.”

  
“You have to say something, Morgana. Some of it's good publicity, yeah, but some of it isn't. And not just for you.”

  
Morgana sighed. “I hope you're not appropriating my life for some big theta statement. I didn't and won't live my life intending to be some symbol.”

  
“Nobody lives their life with the aim to be a symbol. You don't decide that, the people do. Whether you want it or not, you are and will be a symbol to thetas, and every other alternate or underrepresented gender out there. You're a message to normative people about what it is to be different, and why you have to fight twice as hard for half as much,” Merlin said.

  
“The implication being, my personal success somehow obligates me to a public role of idolatry.” Morgana's needles seemed to be clicking faster than ever.

  
“It's an opportunity--”

  
“The second my life has offered me, if you'll remember, Dr. Emrys. And the first 'opportunity' was such a choice; go down in history as a sensational, possibly lying, nearly-castrated theta teenager, or go from college bound princess to poverty stricken run-away. My first 'opportunity' was lose-lose. I'll be damned if my second one will be too.” Her tone was cold and icy. Merlin could hardly blame her. While she hadn't elaborated on those years between her life at the Pendragon estate and when she started modeling professionally, he got the impression they were ugly, and, to her mind, best forgotten.

  
“I do have to tell you, Arthur does want to see you,” he said instead. “Just as a heads up.”

  
Morgana snorted. “I just bet.”

  
“I'm not saying you have to see him, I'm just letting you know he's very insistent. I also think it might not be a bad thing for either of you,” Merlin said softly.

  
“Oh, you don't? Thanks for that informed opinion, Dr. Emrys.”

  
Merlin shook his head. “I don't think he knew, Morgana.”

  
“I don't think he asked.” Morgana yanked at the yarn with such fervor the oblong bundle of yarn went tumbling off the couch and rolled.

  
Merlin rose to collect it. “I doubt he thought he had to.” He fished the bundle out from under a table heavy with art supplies. “It doesn't occur to most people they might need to wonder if their parents have done something monstrous. We just don't think like that. Our default is to love and trust our parents.”

  
“Yes. I'm aware.” Morgana said nastily, snatched the yarn from Merlin, then hurled it down on the couch. Soon following were her needles and her project. She stood, and stalked to Freya's little balcony, picking up a packet of cigarettes and a lighter on the way by.

  
Merlin trailed after her, wrapping his arms against the November chill. There were some overturned pots which used to hold since-expired houseplants.

  
Morgana lit up a cigarette with the rough snap of the lighter, then blew out a long stream of smoke into the starlight.

  
“Give him a chance,” Merlin entreated softly. “I thought he was a prick too, when I met him. He kind of is, but I don't think he's his father. He just... he's never had anyone to ask him to look at things from a different perspective. He needs that challenge, he needs someone to smack him in the face with it, otherwise it isn't real to him. He lives in this high-society, conformity-for-success Right-Wing bubble and I don't think anyone who could pop it gets near enough to do it, or would dare. Arthur is intimidating.”

  
He gave her a glance. “But you're from inside the bubble, Morgana.”

  
He let her sit with that while he chafed his arms and tried to stay upwind of the smoke.

  
“He sends me flowers on my birthday. Has done, since I became famous and he knew where to find me,” Morgana said suddenly, cigarette hovering near her mouth. After the words were out she took a hurried drag, as if to stop herself up from saying anything further.

  
“Who?”

  
“Arthur. After Dark orchids. He remembered they were my favorite. Uther always sent pink roses when he wanted to apologize for missing something for the four hundredth time or forgetting something important altogether. Dozens and dozens of insipid pink rosebuds.” Thought, or perhaps it was memory, tore Morgana away again. She consumed her cigarette, then lit up another, her gaze somewhere off in the dark. “But Arthur remembered the orchids. I could never quite bring myself to throw them out...”

  
Merlin sensed she needed the quiet to sift out how she felt, and what she wanted to risk, so he stood silently, shivering. He was fairly certain their meeting would be disastrous, for both Arthur and Morgana had strong personalities. But, they were also stubborn, and Arthur's commitment to reviving their relationship might bear them through the vicious rocks that lay ahead. He hoped. He suspected Morgana knew it wasn't going to be easy, and that it was the pain she weighed versus having a family once more.

  
Morgana finally discarded the remains of her cigarette into one of the empty terra-cotta plant pots that had a collection of butts in the bottom. “I need to think about it. I'll let you know tomorrow.”

  
It was a dismissal, now she had food for thought, and Merlin accepted it. He trooped inside and bid Freya goodbye before crawling home. By this point he was tired beyond belief, his brain feeling a little like it had been sautéed and plopped back into his skull.

  
There was still someone waiting on his front stoop, though.

  
“Daegal,” Merlin said. “Oh -- damn, did we have plans?” he asked, panic thudding in his throat that he might have forgotten some arrangement.

  
Merlin plowed on before Daegal could answer. “I'm so sorry, I went in to make up some work from Friday and there's just been so much going on, I --”

  
“Merlin. We didn't have plans,” Daegal smiled and held up a big paper bag. “I was going to surprise you with dinner.”  
It was so kind.

  
It also made Merlin's stomach plummet, but he pasted a smile on. “Good timing.”

  
He let them into his apartment. In the enclosed space the smell of curry and pad thai swirled around him. Once taking in the smell, his stomach gave a hungry keen in reminder that he hadn't actually stopped to eat anything since the doughnuts this morning.

  
In an odd parody of the previous night, while Merlin put his things away Daegal assembled the table. Rather, he set the white take out boxes out with the plastic silverware that came with them, and then went to Merlin's liquor cabinet.

  
“None for me,” Merlin said when Daegal went to pour two glasses.

  
“Aw, come on. It'll relax you.”

  
“No, just water, thanks.”

  
Daegal poured him a scotch anyway. Merlin held his tongue against sighing. Why was he being so missish? He was tired and frustrated and worried, this was true, but Daegal hadn't done anything worth earning his irritation. Except perhaps not been a great enough counter attraction to Arthur, but that was not anything new or groundbreaking. Or even Daegal's 'fault'.  
Truthfully, this little experiment had failed. In the depths of his mind, Merlin knew this. Letting it go, with all the hope it represented, though? That was another matter. He somehow couldn't pry his mental hands off it, even as he knew it was scorching him and would continue to do so.

  
They ate takeout and conversed lightly at the table, though Merlin didn't speak of Morgana. He supposed a significant other might have some kind of free pass in the Tell No-One clause, but honestly? Merlin didn't quite think of Daegal in such intimate terms, and while Daegal was trustworthy in an average everyday sense, plopping a news story this ripe for the taking just out of reach seemed like too much of a risk. For the moment Merlin kept mum. Maybe if he had Morgana's express permission he'd inform Daegal. It at least might knock Arthur off the top of Daegal's predatory prime interview targets list.

  
When they finished they sat together on the couch and turned to TCM to catch a film. _Key Largo_ happened to be on. Merlin had seen it before, and so let his scotch-wet brain comfortably ooze while watching it, paying it half the heed he might if it was a first viewing.  
Midway through Daegal reached over and settled a hand on Merlin's knee.

  
Merlin looked at it. It was just a hand on his knee. He wasn't feeling up to being amorous, no matter who was on the other end, but somehow protesting seemed churlish. Then again, so did just dumping Daegal. He'd done nothing except ask Merlin out when he was maybe a little too desperate to do the right thing. Daegal didn't deserve this.

  
The honest truth was, though, Merlin wasn't even sure how to break up with someone. He'd never had to do it before, had never been with someone he'd been able to call boyfriend. He knew how in a general sense of gentility, respect, and all those things you studied, but it was different than being in the moment. To be in that second when you were confessing you didn't want the same thing as your former partner. It seemed like it should be easy, the intellectual understanding there would be heartbreak.  
Doing it was something else. Moreover, if he were asked why, what would he say? Thus far he and Daegal had been without significant bumps. No deal-breaking arguments or conflicts. Just the sex. Which, perhaps, was about to become an issue.

  
“I know you're not in the mood,” Daegal said, starting Merlin from his thoughts. “Give me your feet.”

  
Merlin hesitated only a moment, then hastened to act for fear of looking reticent. He scooted back and lifted his feet. Daegal caught one of his ankles, pulled the feet onto his lap and peeled off Merlin's socks. With thumbs he began massaging the ball of Merlin's left foot.

  
Merlin groaned. He let his eyes slip closed.

  
Why, on top of everything else, did Daegal have to be such good boyfriend material? Why couldn't he be a jerk and make this easy? And why couldn't Merlin just let go and enjoy it, instead of analyzing and worrying and obsessing?

  
For a few minutes they sat in silence, with Daegal rubbing his feet, and probably neither of them paying too much attention to the movie.

  
“I can hear you worrying,” Daegal said softly.

  
Merlin cracked an eye open, then sighed. “That bad?”

  
“I know you're stressed about a lot of things, but I wanted you to know I had a good time at the party. I wondered if you might like to talk about it.”

  
“About what?” It wasn't like he didn't know. Still, talking was the last thing Merlin felt up to doing, but it wasn't as if there was a way to avoid it.

  
“Us. In the bathroom.”

  
He resisted sighing, but Merlin did tug his feet away from Daegal's kind ministrations. He drew his legs close to his chest, and rested his chin on his kneecaps. He looked at his own toes, not quite able to meet Daegal's eyes.

  
“I'm...not very experienced,” he said at long last, handling each word with the care of spun sugar.

  
“I kinda got that,” Daegal gave a twitch of the mouth, not quite a smile, but an acknowledgment with a thread of levity designed to keep the topic from becoming too serious.

  
Merlin managed a weak smile.

  
“It surprises me, though. I mean, you're pretty attractive. You must have been a real bookworm, in school.”

  
“Yeah.” Well, Merlin couldn't quite deny that, but being a bookworm wasn't as prohibitive towards sex as people thought. His penetrative virginity was less a matter of attraction or opportunity, but more of want. That strange instantaneous revulsion that came from deep inside, whenever he tumbled naked with someone into bed, and they put their mouths or hands on him. When he filled his nose with their scent and coupled that with the knowledge of what was to come, all the wet, good things he read about in books.

  
The welling swell of gut-deep rejection that came was perhaps something Merlin could have powered through. He didn't need an erection while he let an alpha work him over, after all. He could have white knuckled through the panic edged feeling, he could have made it happen. Well, except for the cold truth that he didn't _want_ to. In the competing desires, his craving for sex buckled in the face of his want for it to be good, to be without every fiber in him telling him this was not the alpha meant to partake of him. He still cared about who he went to bed with, though not for lack of trying to make it not matter.

  
Still, he somehow didn't want to air that to Daegal. It would only hurt him. He'd only feel used, and Merlin desperately did not want Daegal to think that, even if some edges of it were slightly true. Because if things were different? He could have fallen into bed with Daegal, he thought. The funny gender-rights queer couple.

  
Daegal continued. “But, the alpha thing--”

  
“Daegal, I honestly didn't mean for that to happen.”

  
“I know, like I said, I get it. But, are you gay, Merlin? Bi? Maybe a little asexual, except for when the hormones get the better of you?” He asked it gently, rather than accusingly, and Merlin could see Daegal the college queer counselor peeking through.  
Merlin paused to consider that and rubbed his face. “I don't know,” he finally worked out miserably. “I mean, with labels. I know I like you.”

  
And that wasn't a lie. He did. He liked Daegal. And he didn't know what he was, if not for this horrible hindrance which was being irrevocably tied to some blond princeling with entitlement coming out of his ass.

  
“I like you too,” Daegal dipped his head. “Just, you know. I think it's something you should think about. Labels aren't all bad. Sometimes they can help you figure out what you want.”

  
When Merlin didn't answer right off, Daegal picked up again. “Because, if you're keyed into alphas, and, you know, you need that, we gotta talk about it.”

  
Well, it was problem adjacent. And Merlin was suddenly angry at himself for just letting this happen, for letting his grievance with his matsexuality drag him here, to accidentally hurting Daegal. And Arthur, really.

  
“What's going on in my pants is complicated, Daegal. It's always been. And I've never tried with another omega, that's new, and I do like you. But, I'm afraid my massive hang-ups might make this kind of impossible,” he said.

  
Daegal frowned and sat up a little straighter. “Are you – Merlin, I'm not issuing some ultimatum! Come on now.”

  
“No, I know you're not, but I'm not going to be anyone's idea of normal. And if this is all I can offer, some weird sexless friendship? I don't want to waste your time.” Better. It was better this way.

  
“Don't say it like that, it's not wasted,” Daegal chided.

  
It was nice of him, but Daegal was still toiling fruitlessly. No matter how many pork-asses he collected in forms of foot massages or kind words, Merlin knew they were probably never going to add up to wild monkey sex.

  
“You do know you're deflecting this whole conversation, right? I talk to people for a living, you don't think this answering a direct question with asking to break up is going to work, do you?” Daegal said, a little incredulity seeping into the tones.

  
Merlin shrugged. “Kind of hoping.”

  
“Look, you don't want to talk about that right now, we won't. But let me ask two things?”

  
Merlin paused, considered, then nodded.

  
“Okay,” Daegal said. “One: Do you like my company in other non-sex related ways? Do you like dating and kissing me?”

  
“Yes.” Well. True. He did like Daegal. Sure, Daegal could be a little predatory about his work, and he had a way of dominating conversations, but they were personality foibles. Everyone had flaws; it was what made them people.

  
“Two. Do you have any intention of going somewhere else for sex? Is there someone else?”

  
“No,” Merlin answered, deep and definite. Not if he could help it, would there be someone else. Arthur didn't count as a someone else, not really. Someone else was someone you were in love with, someone who wanted you back. Arthur was someone Merlin was trying to avoid. He couldn't control his dreams, his dreams weren't what he wanted when he woke up, when he could choose.

  
Daegal exhaled, regarding Merlin with a probing intensity. Merlin watched him in return, perhaps a bit wary.

  
“If what you've got to offer right now is companionship and affection, then I'll take that, for now,” Daegal said. Then he smiled.

  
Merlin made himself smile back. He didn't really feel it. What did he feel? A churning mess of emotion, so unsure if this was good or bad or somewhere between the two. Still, when Daegal tilted forward for a soft peck, Merlin leaned in to it.

  
Fuck his life.

  
It was after the movie finished, and Daegal had gone that Merlin opened his laptop. No, he had no intentions of beginning anything with confusing, beautiful Arthur.

  
But Arthur didn't know that. And he should.

  
He searched for an hour on the different Spring Run boards until he found the post on one of the missed connections forums on the official page, made way back in May. SimpleCrimson had written 'Malpha. I went to Spring Run, seeking my mate, but didn't find zer at the Mating Grounds. At the Hilton I caught the scent of my mate. Zer was an omega on the seventh floor, in room 700 to 735. I am still seeking zer; please email your room number and scanned documentation of your stay as well as your precise sexugender if you think you may be my omega. If you have any information of omegas staying in this room range for the 2013 Beltane, it would be appreciated.'

  
It made Merlin smile, so authoritative while asking this invisible person to give themselves up, or their friends tell on them. And yet, Merlin knew there was longing, under all the pomposity.

  
He stared at the post for a long time before jumping over to an email server. He created an unmemorable email address, and pasted the email from the post in the recipient box. Then he began to type.

  
**Simple Crimson,**   
**I am an omega who was staying in that range of rooms for the 2013 Spring Run. I did not go to find a mate, and I don't want one. On the off chance I'm the omega you seek, I have no interest in meeting you, and will not be attending Spring Run next year.**   
**Sorry.**

Merlin stared at the hollow, impersonal words, each carefully chosen for plausible deniability, avoiding specifics, and yet... he had to tell him. Even if Arthur didn't believe it, Merlin would have informed him that it wasn't going to happen. He'd have done his job, washed his hands of it, given Arthur freedom to do whatever the hell he wanted.

  
He argued with himself as he stared at the pixels that formed the words. How it was the right thing to do. And it was. Hadn't Gwen been over and over how he needed to tell Arthur something? This was the best way. Anonymous, vague, and yet absolving Arthur of any responsibility he might feel for his phantom omega.

  
Not that Arthur wanted to be relieved of those duties and responsibilities. But, Merlin needed it to be final. Needed to close that door, needed Arthur to know the door had been closed between them.

  
Then there was Morgana. How would Arthur feel, his omega and his sister telling him to fuck off in the same week? That didn't seem fair at all. Who was Merlin to add to that rejection, even in a remote, indefinite way?

  
He couldn't.

  
He saved the email to drafts. Later. He'd send it later.

 

ᴥ

 

_Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

  
_Subject: Hermione Granger_   
_Sexugender/Physiogender: betafem_   
_Orientation: heterosexual_   
_Marital Status: Divorced_

_I went to this exclusive boarding school as a child. It's rather well known, an old and prestigious establishment that was once for alphas only, and malphas, preferably. They had to be forced to integrate, and they did not do it happily. I hazard to say that though my grades were exemplary and more than qualified me, I suspect that my academic achievement was not the deciding factor in my attendance; I got in because the quota was so low that year, they needed the non-alpha enrollment to be in compliance with federal law._

  
_I don't regret going. Being a graduate has opened more doors for me than I could say. I would also be remiss if I didn't say the years I spent there weren't difficult. Being a betamale might have been tolerated, if just. Hazing of course, standard mockery, the usual reminders of one's placement since I was also middle-class instead of wealthy, and in mostly on scholarship. But my being a betafem seemed to enrage not only the student body, but a percentage of the staff. Clearly, no one felt I had a right to be there, based solely on my gender. The other students were hostile and cruel, and I was ostracized. The teachers were worse. Their dislike of me was not at all shielded. My intellect and my refusal to hide it outraged them further, for not only was I an interloper, but I dared be competent. The term 'Know-it-all-beta' was used a great deal._

  
_Think of how utterly unfair and repulsive that is; places hallowed for centers of learning which house emotionally vulnerable children are systematically destroying the senses of self worth, achievement, strength and esteem of brilliant young people for a reason they themselves cannot control; their birth gender. How much are we losing each generation, by beating these individuals down and then taking no responsibility for the debilitated adults they become? How vile are we as people that we know it happens,_ but we allow it to continue?

  
_Those years were awful, but they taught me a great deal about the way the world really works, the way we don't like to say it does or we hide behind jokes. It's why I've become a social activist, exposing places like my old alma mater where discrimination has become institutionalized._

  
_I've been on blockers since college because it doesn't stop there. If we're willing to let children be bullied in an atmosphere of purported enlightenment, that doesn't say much for the conditions we deem survivable for the adults, does it? Especially in traditionally alpha careers, where belittlement and cruelty endure under a veil of frightened silence and the feeble understanding that to thrive, one allows the veil to remain unpierced._

  
ᴥ

 

When Merlin woke up Sunday, he felt crackly eyed and tired. His sleep had been anything but restful, and he still wanted a few more hours. His rapidly jangling phone made that next to impossible, however. He scrambled for it where it continued to ring over and over.

  
He grunted into the receiver upon connecting.

  
“Merlin! Where have you been?!” Gwen's voice was sharp on the other end and before Merlin could formulate an answer she was plowing on. “Arthur just left my house, he's going to see Morgana. They couldn't stop him. Leon went after him.”  
Merlin sat bolt upright in bed. “What?” He pulled his phone to look at the readout and saw one missed call from Arthur and six from Gwen.

  
“He figured out she had to be with Freya and he got her address from my desk. I'm sorry, Merlin,” Gwen was saying.

  
Merlin shot out of bed and fumbled for some clothes. “How long ago did they leave?”

  
“Ten minutes?”

  
“Did you call Freya?”

  
“I haven't gotten hold of her, either.”

  
“Where are you?”

  
“I'm in the car with Lance. We're on our way.”

  
“Okay, I'm coming.” Merlin disconnected. He rushed into the bathroom to pee and smear some hormones on, grabbed his keys and was off.

  
Was it a surprise Arthur figured it out? No, not really. Merlin had three good friends; Gwaine, Gwen and Freya. Between Gwaine and Freya it wasn't too hard to guess where Merlin would stash someone. He should have sent her to Finna's, despite his reservations. Of course Arthur just couldn't be patient, couldn't just let things happen, oh, no. He had to rush right in, his pack trailing behind him.

  
Merlin's frantic drive, in which he may have broken a few speed limits, simultaneously took forever and yet was over in a blink. In the parking lot of Freya's building he spied Lance's Prius with the 'Think Globally, Act Locally' and 'Coexist' bumper stickers, Arthur's inhumanly clean Mercedes and a Cadillac concluding the trio which must have been Leon's. Merlin parked his used and terribly ill-matched Honda beside it, then ran inside the building.

  
He could hear raised voices through the door when he arrived at the top floor. He hadn't finished his knock when the door was yanked open by a wide eyed Freya.

  
“He threatened to break the door down,” Freya whispered. “I didn't want the police to come.”

  
“It's okay.” Merlin leaned in to give her a squeeze while he took in the scene.

  
Lance was standing between a frustrated Arthur and furious Morgana with his hands raised, clearly trying to mediate, though with little success, considering the volume. Leon lingered behind Arthur, and was holding what looked like some ice in a dishtowel over his eye. Gwen was beside Freya, her mouth set with unease, her eyes on Lance.

  
“--so you just thought you'd barge in here with your gang and make demands?!” Morgana was saying.

  
“You're the one who's kept me waiting in attendance for two days like some kind of queen,” Arthur retorted.

  
“Yes, because I wasn't sure I wanted anything to do with you, and this doesn't exactly prove that I should,” Morgana snapped back.

  
“Arthur, please, let's go,” Lance entreated softly.

  
“Yes, _Arthur_ , go. You couldn't just let Merlin handle things, oh no. Had to have your own way like some spoiled child.” Morgana turned with a disgusted sound. She caught sight of Merlin by the door. He mouthed an apology to her, but saw Arthur follow Morgana's gaze and land on him. Arthur's mouth set into a vexed line. His eyes raked up and down Merlin, then clearly dismissed him, apparently angry to have been kept waiting and blaming Merlin for keeping him at bay.

  
“This is family business, pack business, Merlin shouldn't come into it,” Arthur snapped, turning his attention back to Morgana and his back pointedly at Merlin.

  
Merlin took a breath and steeled himself.

  
Morgana gave a laugh like broken glass. “What, so you've decided I'm in your pack suddenly? Without my permission?”

  
“You are pack, you've always been pack. Father's, maybe, but he's not here.”

  
“Arthur, did it occur you at all that I might not want to be pack? We haven't spoken for years, but automatically I'm, what, chattel? Something you think you can inherit?” Morgana said, and would have loomed closer, except Lance sort of shifted to stand properly between her and Arthur like some pained looking but well-meaning wall. Merlin heard Gwen suck in a girding breath beside him. He didn't blame her, the ire between the two of them swam around the room, a miasma thick enough to stir.  
Morgana's question clearly caught Arthur off guard a moment, but he recovered quickly. He grasped Lance on the shoulder, and jerked him out of from between him and Morgana. Even so, Lance lurked beside them with Leon, rather than move away.

  
“Of course you want to be pack-- who doesn't want to have their family close, the people that mean the most to them?” Arthur said.

  
“Leon and Lance – and Uther -- do not 'mean the most to me'.” Morgana sneered at Lance and Leon, who stood behind their alpha. “They're your pack goons, and of course you think they're allowed to be here, no question, but not someone I've chosen to use as a go-between?”

  
“You were pack, Morgana, so--”

  
“What, when I was a child and had no choice? I'm over the age of consent, Arthur, and I have not reaffirmed my pack loyalty. Though, apparently I have no rights inside the pack I escaped from and deny participation in. As if I don't have a mind or decisions worth respecting. Like father, like son.”

  
Morgana turned sharply and strode away towards the bedroom. It was the only available place to retreat to, but Arthur pursued her with an angry exclamation.

  
Merlin caught Gwen's wrist. Clearly there were too many people witnessing this conflict. Morgana's discomfort radiated off her like a high sheen. However, Merlin didn't think he could ask Freya to leave her own apartment, and he doubted Leon and Lance would leave on Merlin's say so. They were already moving to follow Arthur into the small bedroom. They should have known better than to chase her when she retreated, and not box her in. Couldn't they see that? Forget how it looked, couldn't they tell it was three against one and they weren't so much trying to support their alpha as intimidate Morgana? It was unfair, and a little frightening.

  
He had to do something.

  
“Take Lance and Freya into the kitchen,” he told Gwen softly.

  
He and Gwen moved at once to the two betas. Gwen lightly tapped Lance.

  
Merlin was more direct. He caught Leon's shoulder. When Leon came around Merlin squinted up at his eye. “Better change your ice,” Merlin advised.

  
Leon shook his head. “Later.”

  
Gwen took Lance's hand. “Don't you think we should let them talk?” she asked softly, gaze traveling between Lance and Leon.  
“Arthur might need us,” Lance protested.

  
“To what? Hold Morgana down while Arthur pummels her into submission?” Merlin asked, with much less tact than Gwen.

  
Leon looked somewhat aghast. “No!”

  
“We would never!” Lance added.

  
“But, with so many people it looks a bit as though you're trying to use numbers to force her into something,” Gwen explained gently.

  
Lance's brow furrowed and then he went pale. “Gwen, you don't think--”

  
“No,” Gwen reached out and cupped Lance's cheek. “I know that's not what you mean, that you would never dream of it. I know you don't see it like that, but you have to look at it from outside the pack, too.”

  
Leon's face had resolved. “You don't understand what it is to be in a pack,” he said to both Gwen and Merlin.

  
“And _you_ don't understand what it is to be independent with a gang trying to force you into group think with the threat of being in physical danger,” Merlin shot back. Something in Leon's uppish words, no matter how kindly stated, got his dander up. Had Leon known who Merlin was, had Arthur? He doubted any of them would have had a problem using the more passive-aggressive forms of coercion, and maybe even some more aggressive ones. An unruly sister was one thing, a body Arthur felt he had dominion over by virtue of her childhood inclusion into the Pendragon pack. What would happen if it was a rogue truemate Arthur was faced with? Something Arthur's nose told him he owned, and not just a history of inclusion?

  
Honestly, the thought of what they could or would do all in the name of pack 'rightness' frightened Merlin a little when looking at the three of them. Their whole pack was almost half again as big. Even if Merlin hadn't met the other two packmates, he sincerely doubted any in Arthur's personal pack were faint of heart. As a unit...

  
Yet, he also couldn't in good conscience not help when he should. The misses were getting narrower, and narrower.

  
“Everyone,” Gwen said, and she was using what Merlin thought of as her ER voice; total and complete authority. “Merlin will go in and help. Leon, I will look at your eye. Lance, come with me.”

  
For a second the two men vacillated, but Lance relented and followed Gwen when she turned and headed for the kitchen. With one last look at Merlin, Leon followed too.

  
Merlin took a deep breath. He rubbed at his eyes. He hadn't even had his coffee yet. Well. No help for it now. He followed the sounds of the dispute. Arthur hadn't quite closed the door behind him, so Merlin went inside and pulled the door shut softly.

  
“I didn't even know! Last I knew you were a beta or an omega. I went to school overseas and you ran away and disappeared for three years,” Arthur was saying as Merlin entered.

  
“And it didn't occur to you to ask why I ran away?” Morgana snapped.

  
“Father explained you'd been unhappy.”

  
Morgana gave an angry sound and turned sideways, giving Arthur her shoulder and crossing her arms. Merlin approached, listening, trying to get a grip on where their argument had gone since his brief delay in dealing with Leon and Lance.

  
Arthur carried on, despite being presented with Morgana's shoulder. “Do you remember yourself those last years? The arguments, the lying, the sneaking out, you biting everyone's head off all the time over nothing? You wrecked cars, you stole from the house, you'd go missing for days at a time and you were failing school. Three times you had to be picked up from the police station. Running away is usually the next step, isn't it?”

  
Not surprising that Morgana had summed up those years with a vague sense of wildness, and not the more blatant juvenile delinquency which seemed to be the case. Then again, Merlin understood that people often painted themselves in a better light, and Morgana had had reasons for her more off-kilter behavior. The hormones that fueled theta transition were powerful, and often incited erratic behavior on a placid system otherwise pointed towards being malleable beta. In Morgana especially, it was coupled with a distinctly vindictive personality.

  
“You pompous ass!” she snapped over her shoulder at Arthur.

  
“Well, if it wasn't drugs, what?” Arthur demanded.

  
Morgana seemed to take exception to his imperious tone. “I don't owe you an explanation. Get it through your thick head, you're not my alpha.”

  
But Arthur pressed on. “Why have you refused contact with me all these years if it wasn't something you felt guilty for? Why, Anna?”

  
“You thought I had a guilty conscience? That's rich. And it's _Morgana_.”

  
Merlin chose that moment to step close enough for them to register them, his hands up. “Okay you two, why don't we settle down and discuss this calmly?”

  
Arthur blinked at him, then looked around, probably scanning for Lance and Leon. When he didn't find them he focused back on Merlin and snapped, “Get out of here, Merlin.”

  
“No, I want him here,” Morgana said, though the look on her face suggested she wanted Merlin more because Arthur didn't, and was taking some glee in rubbing Arthur's nose in it.

  
Merlin set his teeth and pointed. “Sit,” he commanded in his best chastising professor voice.

  
Arthur looked at him sullenly, but thrust himself onto the fainting couch beside the bed. He sent Merlin an accusing glare, but it was quickly lost as he gripped the arms and watched Morgana. She alighted delicately on the bed and crossed her legs and folded her arms, the picture of a demure lady.

  
Merlin leaned his bottom against the rim of the cluttered lowboy against the wall, putting himself back, about equal distance to each so his presence would be felt, but without bias.

  
“Now,” Merlin said when they were settled. “You two have a complicated history. You could hurl recriminations back and forth all day, and maybe even enjoy it a little bit, but you were a family.”

  
Arthur smirked.

  
“Were,” Merlin stressed.

  
Arthur's smirk fell away. “You're just here because you're on her side,” he accused.

  
“I am not on anyone's 'side'. Both of you have valid points, and both of you are being pigheaded.” He gave each a significant look.

  
Now neither of them looked happy with him. He let them sit a moment in quiet while he tried to figure out where to start. They were two volatile people with a history that dipped into some of the uglier places private family history could sink. While he doubted their spirited temperaments would allow handling with kid gloves, he had to mitigate the worst of it, if he could. He didn't want either of them hurt. Neither of them deserved that.

  
Eventually he began. “Arthur. You wanted to see Morgana very badly. Why don't you explain why?”

  
Arthur crossed his arms. “She disappeared when we were teenagers, was gone for years, then comes back with some fake name--”

  
“I'll have you know it's fully legal, I had it changed as soon as I was eighteen,” Morgana snapped.

  
“Morgana, let Arthur finish. You'll get your turn,” Merlin said.

  
She let out an unhappy sound in her nose, but quieted.

  
“As I was saying, she comes back with some new name, telling everyone she's an alpha--”

  
Morgana interrupted with an indignant sound, but was silenced by a firm look from Merlin.

  
Arthur continued. “We were friends, when we were kids. Almost like brother and sister, I thought. Pack. And suddenly she just cleans out Father's safe and disappears? As soon as I got back from Switzerland I went to police stations, homeless shelters, I asked all her friends. I tried to find her. I even went a few crack houses with her picture. I wouldn't stop until Father hired a private detective to search.”

  
Merlin couldn't help but wonder if Morgana had done such a great job of disappearing, or if Uther hadn't wanted her to be found. She was seventeen, a rich kid. She couldn't have made that many friends in low places. He didn't dare ask it, though. One can of worms at a time. In fact, that one didn't need opening at all, really. Oh it would, that was the nature of the world, but not right now.

  
Morgana did look surprised by this bit of news, but it was lined with a grim kind of knowledge that Merlin felt certain her thoughts were not too far off his own.

  
“You looked for me,” she said, trying out the words.

  
“Of course I did!” Arthur sounded the smallest bit outraged she thought he hadn't, wouldn't.

  
“But Uther--”

  
Arthur interrupted, “Father made a missing persons report, he tried. But, I think he felt that if you didn't want to be there he wasn't going to drag you back.”

  
“It's what you're supposed to do. I was seventeen, Arthur!”

  
“Almost eighteen, and you'd robbed us and disappeared. What do you want me to say, Anna? He's not perfect, but he tries.” Arthur said.

  
“So, you wanted to know what happened to her,” Merlin coaxed softly, trying to get them back on a more productive track than what each thought Uther's thoughts and feelings on the matter had been. They each had their own particular lens on that matter, and, Merlin suspected, never the twain would meet.

  
“Yes. Then she reappears, new identity, that tube sock stuffed down her pants, but she won't take my calls, or let me into her building, answer my email, sends back my letters unopened, has her PA blockade me and generally ignores me, the alpha! She even tripped a waiter at some charity thing we both happened to be at so he dropped this huge tray of drinks between us to avoid speaking to me. That's right, I saw you kick that guy with those fucking pointy shoes you wear!” Arthur said, uncrossing his arms to point an accusing finger at Morgana, who just fluffed her hair casually.

  
“Arthur,” Merlin said warningly.

  
Arthur sighed. “Fine. I just...” He struggled a moment, jaw pulsing before he said. “I wanted to know what happened to her, and why she suddenly seemed to hate the sight of me. I didn't do anything to deserve that.” His tone was less stringent by this point, and Merlin suspected the confession had the same vulnerability of those he'd made a few nights previous, and was equally as difficult for Arthur.

  
Morgana shook her head at Arthur scornfully. “You thought I got hooked on drugs and stuck a prosthetic down my panties?”

  
“Come on, Anna,” Arthur said, and though it wasn't a condescending tone, it was something very close. “We talked about gendering enough as kids, what was expected of us. It was omega or beta for you, you knew. You didn't like it, but, unless there was … surgery, there wasn't much you could do.” Arthur made an offhand gesture to her groin area. Merlin almost wanted to flinch, as he was sure Arthur didn't realize he'd issued a challenge. He was treating her like a breeder with hysteria; indulgence seasoned with gentility, patronizing, and conceit.

  
Of course, Morgana wasn't a breeder, not a beta or an omega. Not that it should matter.

  
Morgana jerked to stand. She was wearing black slacks and a long wrap sweater in a ruddy jewel tone. Her hands went for her fly and before Merlin or Arthur could really process her motions she'd dropped the slacks to her ankles, pulled down her lacy underwear and stepped out of them both.

  
The offhand thought that she actually wore the lingerie products she modeled for floated past Merlin's mind. Then again, Merlin had already seen her naked, so it wasn't as big a shock as it might otherwise have been. This time she was really asking for a response, too. Merlin wasn't about to give it to her… but if Arthur still thought Morgana was rocking fake junk, maybe it was better he see her fully.

  
Arthur gave a bleat of horror and slapped his hands over his eyes like a child hiding from a horror movie.

  
“What's wrong, Arthur? Don't you want to investigate? Examine the workzership? See if you can find any scalpel lines?” Morgana said nastily. She walked towards him where he sat, right up to him so they stood toe to toe; her crotch was in his face. “I wouldn't want to deny my alpha his absolute rights to my person.”

  
“Put your clothes back on!” Arthur ordered, his fingers still pressed over his eyes. His posture had gone rigid, pressing himself back against the chaise lounge.

  
“But you clearly need the proof. Do you need me to get hard? Will seeing my knot do it for you?” Morgana's tone was all overly-sincere accommodation, dripping with falseness. Not that Merlin could find it in himself to blame her. Apparently Morgana's word wasn't good enough to prove her gender, but Arthur was making a big display in avoiding the proof.

  
“Anna!” Arthur barked.

  
“ _Morg_ ana. Come on, Arthur, clearly you need to make sure it's real.” She grabbed one of his wrists and pulled his hand away from his eyes. “Take a peek.”

  
Arthur batted her hands away, and in the process his eyes popped open a little. He hissed and closed them quickly.  
“Get dressed, An--Morgana, Christ!”

  
“Are you sure? You haven't even gotten a good look yet. You clearly can't take my word for it; should I bend over, Arthur? Need to see my cunt as well?”

  
“Merlin! Aren't you supposed to be mediating this?” Arthur snapped.

  
“Well,” Merlin said reasonably, “You wouldn't believe Morgana when she said she's a theta. If you can't trust her word, maybe you should make your own judgment.”

  
Merlin could see Arthur's throat working. He did feel bad, but Arthur couldn't have it both ways.

  
And it was another challenge. Pendragons. Sheesh.

  
Arthur squared his shoulders, jaw clenching and unclenching. He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter then snapped them open.  
He didn't have far to look, considering Morgana has positioned herself right in front of him and was absently fondling herself.  
Arthur made a disgusted sound and closed his eyes again.

  
Merlin rolled his. “Morgana.”

  
“Oh, fine.” She put her hands on her hips. “Better?”

  
“Yes. Arthur?”

  
Arthur tentatively opened his eyes again, and peered out at the pliant length of flesh and the hairless testicles at the apex of Morgana's thighs. For a few seconds there was unmoving silence, as Arthur stared at her nether regions and Morgana watched him. Merlin felt the tension of it, though he did admit the rogue need to giggle brewing somewhere under all the other emotions, at the utter absurdity of the scene.

  
Finally Merlin said, “All right. We all on the same page?”

  
“Yes.” Arthur, a little pale, averted his eyes. “Please, get dressed.”

  
Morgana tossed her hair and went over to retrieve her puddled clothes and don them.

  
“All right. So. It's real.” Arthur swallowed.

  
“Gosh, thanks _ever_ so,” Morgana said dryly as she adjusted her sweater back over her trousers.

  
“I didn't mean it like that.”

  
“Didn't you?”

  
Merlin interjected before the backbiting could heat any more. “Okay. Clearly Morgana is telling the truth about her gender, and now she understands that you were worried about her. Morgana, why don't you explain to Arthur why you have been disinclined to contact Arthur?”

  
Morgana made a little 'duh' face. “Because he's his father's son, through and through.”

  
Arthur frowned again. “What does that mean?”

  
“It means you're the same narrow-minded, bigoted, autocratic--”

  
“Morgana,” Merlin interrupted before Arthur's face darkened too much. “Tell him what you're afraid of.”

  
“Afraid? I'm not afraid.”

  
“What you're concerned about, then, in re-establishing contact with Arthur.”

  
There was a moment of tense quiet. Morgana was bumping one foot up and down, her jaw jutting forward just slightly in an expression of reluctant deliberation.

  
“Our father has beliefs. Beliefs that I defy. That I think are wrong. But, you consider him your Grand Alpha, don't you?” Morgana said slowly.

  
It took Arthur a moment, but he nodded.

  
“And you've always been so loyal, Arthur. I'm not about to ask you to choose between Uther and me. I'd lose and you'd betray me. I'm not setting myself up for that.”

  
It was matter-of-fact, her statement, and that seemed to stagger Arthur for a moment before he recovered.

  
“Betray you? What is this, a Shakespearean tragedy? What could I possibly do? Or Father, for that matter? Why would there have to be choosing, anyway?” Arthur said.

  
“If you think what he did was permissible, if you think it was the right action for an alpha, I can't have contact with you. It would be … like giving permission. Like saying it's right.” Morgana chafed her arms as if she were cold.

  
“What? Who did what? Father?”

  
It made Merlin's stomach bottom out a bit when he understood. Arthur hadn't come to this revelation yet. He hadn't realized how Merlin and Morgana knew each other. He hadn't attributed the tale of the anonymous theta in the study to the theta sitting with them, connected to Merlin. Or, maybe he hadn't read that far.

  
What it boiled down to, was that Arthur was totally unaware of what Uther had tried to do to Morgana. He didn't even know they were true siblings. Merlin had thought that maybe, just maybe Arthur had collated the two bits of data.

  
“God, you don't even know.” Morgana stood again, fingers briefly pressed against her mouth.

  
“What? What don't I know? Merlin. I was honest with her, why doesn't she have to be with me?” Arthur stabbed a hand at Morgana while looking at Merlin.

  
“He has a point, Morgana,” he said softly.

  
She turned to Merlin then, eyes wide and surprisingly vulnerable. “He won't believe me. He won't.” It was almost a whisper, an entreaty to make it all right to remain quiet. She'd reached for Merlin's hands, squeezing them tight. It was real fear on her features.

  
He could relate, strangely enough. As long as she never tested Arthur, the hope still existed. The way Merlin had been with his then-unknown alpha. If he never looked for his alpha he couldn't be disappointed if he didn't find zer. He couldn't be disappointed if zer was just like all the others. It was self preservation, saving yourself from being crushed by a hideous truth. Like the fact that all Arthur wanted from his omega was a bunch of kids and sucking up to Uther for all his days.

  
Merlin forcibly stopped his mind from chasing that spiral, and in all truth, for all Arthur was stereotypical alpha expectations as regarded his chattel, Freya was right. There was the rudiment of a righteous man, hiding under all the bullshit. Maybe there could be a happier end for Morgana.

  
“You won't know until you try,” Merlin murmured softly, petting over her knuckles.

  
Merlin watched as Morgana fought over the words and the decision before detaching from Merlin and setting her gaze on her brother, hard and determined. “Did you read Merlin's study on blockers?”

  
“Yes,” Arthur said, but with a hasty impatience. He was clearly suspicious of their brief conference.

  
“All of it?”

  
“Yes, Morgana, all of it. I even managed to understand the parts with the big words,” Arthur snapped, though Merlin thought it was tension rather than ill will making him churlish. Still, he didn't appear to be making any connections, and both Morgana and Merlin gave it a few moments to see if he would.

  
When Arthur remained unenlightened, Morgana made a tight sound, then returned with her own sharp retort. “I suppose nothing changes, really. You're still obtuse to the point of being mentally handicapped.”

  
“Morgana, Arthur, don't snipe,” Merlin interjected, especially when he saw the flash of hurt etch across Arthur's features. Only for a moment; Arthur covered it quickly. The pain in the look made Merlin's chest clutch a little. He knew the rowdy mediation was about to go nuclear, and Morgana didn't care how messily she dropped the bomb. “Don't do it like this.”

  
Arthur clearly knew he was missing something. He was looking between the two of them, tension around his eyes, so different from Morgana's brand of puzzlement. “What's this got to do with Merlin's study?”

  
“Still? Obtuse,” Morgana said.

  
“Morgana.”

  
“Oh. You think I'm merciful. How cute, Professor.”

  
“You two. Tell me what's going on,” Arthur demanded on a snarl. Even as he sat, Merlin could see tension charging his thighs through the fine material of his suit. His hands were bunched in his lap.

  
“Oh, for fuck's sake, use your brain, Arthur,” Morgana said harshly. “I met Merlin when I agreed to participate in his study. The only theta to participate, as it happens. Think.”

  
Arthur's brow was still nettled as he and Morgana stared at each other, almost unblinking. Merlin could practically see the process Arthur went through; confusion swathing him at first, and then the remote inattention as he recalled what he had read. He saw the quirk of Arthur's mouth as he remembered and then a slow dawning of comprehension cresting his features, which then hardened. Calcified into the fierce, strong face of a warrior preparing to go into battle.

  
“No,” he said.

  
“You didn't even recognize your own life.” Morgana shook her head.

  
“Let's just calm down a second,” Merlin said, approaching the pair.

  
“Calm down? She's accusing my father of – of -- of attempted mutilation!” Arthur shouted. He thrust himself out of his chair, onto his feet, hands bunched into fists.

  
“Our father,” Morgana corrected, acid in the words.

  
Arthur stared at her, incredulity and denial plain on his face.

  
“Want to take a blood test?” Morgana offered.

  
“Arthur, this is a lot to take in, I think you should sit down, and Morgana--” Merlin said.

  
“Take in? You mean you _believe_ this?!” Arthur wheeled on Merlin, angry. Merlin saw the glimpse of fangs into skin, just slightly elongated with temper. He felt his pulse rate accelerate, remembering the slide of fangs, and how the bite thundered submission through his body. He was frightened of this Arthur, alpha Arthur. The Arthur capable of making him do something, of forcing him.

  
Merlin took a breath and said slowly, “I don't really see what Morgana would have gained by lying.”

  
“You believe it! You believe he-- No. No. He would never. Ever. Especially to -- I mean if she is -- his own child. Especially.”

  
“Oh, wouldn't he?” Morgana all but shouted, and came to her feet as well. “I'm lying, then?” There was hurt too, under the anger. Hurt at having extended herself, having tried despite her distrust, and then at having been right all along.

  
“You could be mistaken,” Arthur said.

  
“I'm not.”

  
“My father--”

  
“Our.” Morgana got in his face. “Our father tried to change my gender, first through pills, and then through surgery, because he didn't like who I was. Then he let me be homeless. I bet he never mentions me, and he's never tried to contact me. I'll just bet you bring up the topic and he changes it. I'm a non-issue to him, better left forgotten.”

  
Merlin raised his hands in a gentling motion. “Morgana, give Arthur a minute. This is a big thing to deal with. Let it sink in,”

  
Neither Arthur nor Morgana gave a sign of having heard him. Arthur stared at her, breathing harshly through his nose. “He loved you.”

  
“No. He doesn't love either of us. He isn't _capable_ of it.” Morgana said, ignoring Merlin. Demanding the moon all at once. They were family, weren't they?

  
“Don't you talk about him like that!” Arthur growled low.

  
“Why not? Or maybe we should talk about how every year he'd triple promise to take you to the Superbowl, together, just the two of you in some special father son bonding, and every year you believed it and every year it never happened. And yet, every year, 'Oh, he means it this year Anna, look, he's got the tickets, Anna, he's cleared his schedule, we're going'. Oh yeah, he loved us.” Morgana's tone had turned abrasively mocking.

  
Arthur responded with heat. “He was busy providing for us, which you would have seen if you weren't so selfish, but then, you liked to invite him to things just because you knew he wouldn't be able to attend and you'd get apology gifts!”

  
“I'll take being mercenary over being a pathetic Daddy's boy begging for scraps of love any day!”

  
“Shut up!”

  
“Make me! Or do you need Daddy to tell you what to do, you little impotent drone!” Morgana rasped. She drew back her lips, and Merlin watched as she fully elongated her canines.

  
Arthur surged forward until they were a bare few feet apart. He let out a wrathful bawl, showing off his canines as they slid down, seating fully in his mouth. They were larger and thicker than Morgana's dainty incisors. Unlike hers, his were not for show. Arthur's canines had full capacity to subdue.

  
Merlin wasn't expecting Morgana to pop teeth, having assumed the advertisements featuring them had just been photoshopped, but as he saw both sets of glimmering elongated canines, both primed to fight, he should have realized this couldn't be faked.

  
“Thought you didn't go in for surgery,” Arthur growled.

  
“Not genital, no. Little cosmetic dentistry to complete the illusion,” she bit back.

  
“Fang-job,” Arthur said derisively.

  
“Because of people like you. Life's just one big pissing match. Our father could have tried to make me more alpha. He didn't. He chose to try and weaken me, like the coward he is!”

  
Arthur snarled a warning. Morgana sounded back, teeth opening in a raspy answering roll of sound which was all invitation for Arthur to come at her. Their weight shifted back and forth, and any moment they looked like they were going to break out into frenzied attack, should the other so much as flinch. The tension vibrated between the two of them, passionate and wounded, simmering with intent to scald and burn.

  
Merlin wanted to think that they'd never hurt each other, that their rational minds would take them beyond the history of packs, when alpha siblings might slaughter each other to gain position as pack head, but he didn't know if it would. The anger and violence radiated off them like a hot wave.

  
Merlin's heart was in his throat. He found himself clutching the furniture, watching them prepare to fight one and other, to tear at each other with intent to maim.

  
He couldn't let this happen. He had to do something. Despite how ugly it was, he should never have let this get away from him. If they did violence to one another, it would be on him, because he'd failed to keep control. They were angry and upset, and even if Merlin was secretly terrified, he was still in more of his right mind than either of them, alphamones, adrenaline and clashing wills overriding everything.

  
He pressed off the dresser and spread his clammy hands in a pose of quelling, daring to edge closer.

  
“Maybe we could--” He was about to try and insinuate himself between them when both turned on him in tandem and snarled dual warnings. Merlin shrank back, his heart giving another rapid twinge in his chest. Their eyes were sharp and warning. Merlin was suddenly struck how they could rip and tear with their teeth, without bothering to subdue him. He'd seen pictures of alpha fights, great ridges of torn flesh and shining scars.

  
“You don't want to do that,” a soft voice said. Merlin glanced. Leon was standing in the room, watching the growling pair. Gwen, Lance and Freya stood in the threshold. It must have gotten very loud indeed.

  
Merlin swallowed and looked back at them, metaphorical hackles still raised, words gone, having moved their discord into the dance of intimidation. A game of violent chicken, spurned by nature, and Morgana's intentional and slightly insane provocation. Except Arthur was facing was his sister, his sister who'd, what? Refused to bend? Lie? Arthur was going to rip her throat out because she wouldn't do what he wanted?

  
Well, not on Merlin's watch.

  
“Yes, I do.” Merlin said before stepping up to the adversarial figures and summoning up his most imposing voice, the deep one he rarely had occasion to use. “Arthur. Morgana. Dial it down,” he commanded. Oh he was frightened, but that didn't mean his job stopped. That didn't mean he was going to let these two wounded people rip each other to shreds.

  
“Back off, Merlin,” Morgana said through her teeth, turning her fierce gaze on Merlin.

  
Arthur didn't bother with words. He was in it, the latent warrior part of his alpha identity bared for all to see. He took in Morgana's threat to Merlin in a brief flick of blue eyes, and barked a ripping warning at her, snapping his teeth.

  
Merlin stood very close to them, imposing his own steel cold into their seething hot energies. His non-threatening posture in addition to his determination helped, but so did his blockers. Merlin could smell the burnt-copper scent that was the alpha-spoiling-for-a-fight coming off Arthur in waves, but his suppressants helped mitigate his innate omega urge to just grovel, and prevented those scent signatures being exuded to the others. “No. Both of you, stop this!” he said firmly.

  
Leon sidled behind Arthur quietly.

  
“Two against one? What, frightened?” For a moment Morgana's bared teeth looked like a grin, as she beheld Leon taking his alpha's side wordlessly. There was something bright and a little scary in her eyes.

  
Merlin felt a hand catch his shoulder, and he started with surprise as Lance pulled him back from the two. Arthur followed the sudden disappearance with tense alarm, eyes planted on Lance as he shuttled Merlin back, over to a far corner of the room and then stuffed Merlin behind him.

  
While Arthur's gaze pursued Merlin Morgana snarled at him. “Don't you turn from me!”

  
Arthur's attention snapped back to Morgana with a roar, but Leon chose that moment to slide around, adjacent to the two. His head was bent, the back of his neck bared, but tilted so he could look at Arthur.

  
“Alpha,” he said softly, pleadingly. “Please.”

  
Arthur stared at him a moment, then looked back at Morgana. Lance left Merlin, whose sweaty back felt stuck to the wall and approached too, the same slightly bent posture as Lance slid beside Morgana and Arthur.

  
Some quiet communication Merlin couldn't understand occurred. He watched Arthur's eyes traveling between Morgana, Lance, Leon and then himself. The two betas slowly worked themselves between them, until, at length, Arthur's fangs began to retract. The simmering heat of impending violence reduced.

  
Morgana hurled another insult at him, but Arthur turned on his heel, silent, full of controlled anger. He stalked from the room, Gwen and Freya scuttling aside to let him pass, Lance and Leon behind him. Gwen and Lance had a brief, rushed exchange, but nothing that would hold up the strategic retreat. Before long Merlin heard the front door open with such force it smacked loudly into the wall.

  
There was a squeak and a soft “Arthur?” from down the hall somewhere.  
Freya hurried over to Merlin, who was still stuck in the corner, and shaking, his heart loud in his ears. She wrapped her arms around him. He clutched her back, and felt her heart thrumming at pace with his.

  
Gwen went to Morgana, but the theta stalled her efforts with a raise of the hand.

  
“Freya, was that Arthur...?” Sophia appeared at the bedroom door. She blinked at them all, then gasped and dropped her shopping bags as her hands flew to her mouth.

  
“Oh my God, you're Morgana le Fey!” Sophia squealed.

 

ᴥ

  
Gwen's kitchen was warm and bright. It smelled like pie. With good reason; there was a half eaten maple-bourbon bruleed pumpkin pie on the table, the crystallized topping cracked artfully. To match was Gwen's apple pie moonshine, which she gave to people in mason jars with red and white check tops around the holidays. The little jars looked all too sweet and innocent for the punch the apple pie liquor came with, which Merlin suspected was a crutch relied upon by several co-workers to get through difficult holidays.

  
Gwen had deemed the day needed pie and booze. Merlin fully agreed.

  
Gwen was slumped down, her face on the table and snoozing softly. She'd only had half a glass of her special moonshine, but she'd been running after Arthur and his packmates for two days, trying to keep them calm. It seemed Arthur's agitation at not only Morgana's presence, but her outing and her friendship with Merlin rubbed off on his packmates. Arthur on edge and in close proximity with Leon and Lance put their guard up too. Merlin's avoiding his calls the day previous had also rubbed him the wrong way.

  
Arthur, Lance and Leon had since returned to the city. They all had work bright and early Monday morning. Since they'd already taken that Friday off there was no playing hooky on Monday, even for Arthur. Then again, if Arthur missed work unexpectedly, he might end up having to tell Uther why. It seemed that still wasn't in the cards.  
Merlin was glad to see them go.

  
But, he knew they'd be trying again at the weekend. Hopefully, a week would help everyone cool down as much as anyone could, after what had nearly been bloodshed.

  
With Sophia running around, Freya's was no longer a safe location. Sophia was fawning all over her, despite Morgana's evident unrest. Once equilibrium was somewhat restored, Freya sat on Sophia while Merlin and Gwen relocated a crabby Morgana to Finna's bungalow. Finna wasn't dazzled in the slightest. She had a ready guest room, but warned Morgana she wasn't canceling bunko, book-group or any other activities she had scheduled in the approaching week just because she had a surprise house guest.

  
Merlin wondered if they shouldn't just broadcast Morgana's whereabouts on the television, considering how spectacularly they were failing at keeping her presence a secret.

  
Merlin rubbed his face. He felt hazy, and the kind of relaxed he felt guilty getting drunk to achieve. But crap, he'd needed it. He'd been unable to shake the fear of the morning. He'd been afraid when Halig attacked, but in a remote kind of way. This was different. This was deeper, rougher and it lingered.

  
He watched Freya, mechanical pencil floating over the page of her sketchbook while she worried at her last piece of pie.  
“She's gonna have to do something,” Merlin murmured.

  
“I know.”

  
“Soon.”

  
“She knows.”

  
“Otherwise it just gets worse and worse.” Merlin buried his face into his arms. He wasn't sure he could face that again.  
Freya was quiet for a time. She finished her pie, and worked on her sketch. Merlin rested his cheek on the kitchen table.  
He opened his eyes when Freya spoke again.

  
“If … if it's some big secret, she's Arthur's sister, isn't she worried some mean journalist is going to dig up her past while she's not talking?”

  
Merlin rubbed his face again. “She had money from her parents. She hasn't said, but I think she made most stuff disappear.”  
“Poof,” Freya said thoughtfully.

  
Merlin was certain that Morgana was more than ready for anyone who wanted to poke around in her past. It would take dedication.

  
He didn't remember Anna Gorlois that well, despite being something of a secret Arthur fanzer. She'd lived with Uther Pendragon between the two periods he'd made use of publicizing his son. There were lots of pictures of baby and beautiful blond child Arthur, many of which focused on the loss of Ygraine Du Bois Pendragon, and how Uther was soldiering through it. Except for the much-lauded annual Pendragon-family-feeds-the-homeless-at-Thanksgiving picture, Arthur mostly went out of print from about age eight to seventeen. Well. Except for a few rogue snapshots of a chubby kid with severe acne. After puberty had done its worst, Arthur was back with a vengeance. A barely clothed vengeance.

  
Anna Gorlois had entered and left the Pendragon household during those years, the pictures she left behind few. Merlin doubted anyone would recognize the glowering figure with the heavy goth make-up and short hair combed to cover her face as that of a famous model. Lingering babyfat in her cheeks and a clear dislike of being photographed cemented the probability, that if anyone remembered the awkward, hostile looking teenager, they'd never connect her with the dazzling Morgana le Fey.

 

ᴥ

  
_Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

  
_Subject: Winchester, Samuel_   
_Sexugender./Physiogender: malpha/male_   
_Orientation: heterosexual_   
_Marital Status: unbonded, married to betafem  
_

  
_An intruder came into our house when I was six months old, and it ended with my mom dying and a house fire. I think my dad kind of broke down, because the guy was tied in with this petty crime ring my dad was trying really hard to bust. He was a cop. Suburban guy, house, kids, wife, bowling league, the whole nine yards. Just doing his job, and because of him, it all just ... burned._

  
_The dad I grew up with was angry and violent and drunk. He was obsessed with how he'd failed his pack, failed as an alpha, so he put everything into destroying the whole ring, especially the top guy who'd ordered it. He was living this vigilante lifestyle, looking for vengeance, putting everything into his job and the bottle. I think sometimes if he could catch a bad guy, any bad guy, no matter if he had to break the rules, he did it. He got demoted, but he was good at what he did, despite being a mess._   
_It was my brother who raised me. He's four years older. He'd make the meals, get us to school, try to make crappy holidays less crappy._

  
_We didn't make friends, it was somehow better not to, you know? It was just us. And D's job was to watch out for me. I heard my dad hammer that at him often enough. “Protect your brother. Protect your brother. Protect the pack.” If you couldn't protect your pack, you weren't worth anything._

  
_When Dad was sober he was always teaching us how to protect ourselves. Forget tossing around footballs, we learned how to shoot, use knives, fight. And it was always like that, always building us to be a strong pack, nothing fun. He taught us how nothing was closer or more important than pack. He was the Grand Alpha, and we always had to listen to him, his word was law. Alphas were law. You were nothing if you couldn't follow the alpha, and he was going to train us to be the strongest alphas._   
_D believed it. He did everything Dad ever wanted, and then some. I mean, I get it now. He was a kid who was raising a kid, while trying to avoid an alcoholic who would smack us around when he was deep in the bottle. And D tried to protect us both, help Dad and raise me. Even if he wasn't always great at parenting, I always knew D loved me. I had that. My role model and parental figure loved me. Dad was too messed up to -- he only ever treated D like a soldier. Not even one you gave commendations to, when they did something right, just … hard. If he was hard with D, D could be what he needed, D would raise to all these expectations and I'd be protected. And I think Dad just thought beta. D was gonna be a beta, because D did everything asked of him, but he could kick ass and take names too and he never challenged Dad. Grand Alpha's word was law. D believed that._   
_When I was old enough to get it, I was arguing with Dad all the time, but not D. D was loyal. To a fault. He twisted himself around to be what Dad wanted._

  
_It changed when D gendered. When you see him, he's all leather jacket and bad-ass attitude and shoot, ask questions later. He was like that in high school, too. He was late gendering, but it was like a foregone conclusion that he'd be alpha. He was fourteen when it finally happened._

  
_I can remember the day it started. I didn't get it, only D was feeling sick. He got us to school, but went home early. When I got home, Jesus, he was **terrified**. Puking, going through a micro-heat, talking about how it was wrong, all wrong, crying. 'This isn't me, this isn't who I have to be'. I'll never forget him saying that._

  
_And Dad was not – he didn't take it well. I guess in his mind it might have been okay for me to be omega, maybe? But not D. It's like dad couldn't look at D, like he was ashamed. He was around even less, after that. I know D felt responsible for it. Like it was his fault our dad was a jerk, his fault for gendering in some way Dad thought was inconvenient._

  
_Funny thing, it only made D try harder. He tried so hard to become everything he thought of as being alpha. Every macho butch-alpha pastime; muscle cars, sleeping around with breeders and bragging about it, classic rock, hard drinking, cocky attitude, repressing emotions. Like, he became this walking stereotype, and you could feel how fake it was. He isn't trans, l guess it might sound like it, but he could've-- there were changes he could have made but didn't, you know? I think, in a regular atmosphere, he would have been happy. Like, he's always been good with kids and he was a pretty good parent, all in all, not that that's all omega – I guess what I mean is the upset with his sexugender didn't come from inside. It was from outside, and how it was received. And there was only ever Dad to give him feedback on that stuff, the way we lived. So what he got was disapproval._

  
_And back then, he hated being omega more than anything. We couldn't afford blockers. I guess that if Dad couldn't love it about him, it must not be worth much, so D used it. We've never talked about him turning tricks to help pay for stuff, but I know he did it. I think he sold his heats, too. Three times a year he'd go on some 'bender' and leave me alone for three days, come back all full of stories about some hot breeder and her parents' lake house or whatever, and I'd get so angry he was behaving just like dad. Eventually I realized that after the benders, miraculously, there would be money he'd 'overlooked' for a new good winter coat for me since I'd grown out of my last one, or a decent trip to the grocery store. I mean, my brother was selling himself because of what some alpha assigned him to be? I mean, D was always better than me at fighting, could and did beat the crap out of anyone he needed._

  
_It's always been about pack for D. Pack and looking out for me, and trying to be what he thought only an alpha could be, and I hated it. When I turned out to be alpha, me, bookworm geek? I mean, Dad was overjoyed one of us was an alpha, but he was quick to tell me I needed to shape up. How I had pack responsibilities, talking to me about how I'd need to be handling D, and how I had to forget school, alphas didn't need school and I just -- I hated all of it. I hate that what we were mattered more to him than who. I hated how Dad destroyed my brother. I mean, he's working through stuff, he's getting better, but it shouldn't have to get better._

  
_Besides that, I don't want to change. People look at me, and I'm 6'4 and, I dunno, I look alpha. I mean, I am, but I don't like all the things that means to people. People like my Dad, and people like my brother. Who think alpha is hitting others to get your way, burying and denying your feelings and having lots of pointless sex with people whose names you won't remember just so, what? You get an adrenaline rush and prove how disposable those people are? That's what people think a pack leader should be? If that's so, I don't want any of it. All I've wanted my whole life is to be free, and that means free of anything people make up for you on the basis of their own pre-determined ideas._

 

ᴥ

  
“I guess this is a bad time,” Freya said at lunch on Wednesday. “But, Spring Run.”

  
She went no further than that, but looked between Merlin and Gwen questioningly, twirling a carrot stick. They were seated around Merlin's desk, as recent conversational material was unsuitable for the teacher's lounge, or any other place they might be accidentally overheard, discussing rogue super models.

  
“You still want to go?” Merlin asked. Halig's assault was still fresh in his mind in many ways. The alpha had never even laid hands on Freya, but it was still an assault, a caution.

  
“I've thought about it. It was bad, but I had you two there to help me. I'd still like to give it another try.” Freya smiled and shrugged. “Not everyone there is bad, and I thought I should bring it up earlier, rather than later.”

  
Merlin watched her nibble at the carrot stick. It was true that assaults were rare at Spring Run these days. In the last thirty years or so more assiduous care and money had been given to making Spring Run as safe as possible. As a part of Breeder's Lib in the sixties there had been spates of protests and boycotts over the conditions, the lack of aide available, and the all too frequent happenstance of omegas being coerced and raped. The fight had been long. Old fashioned morés were strong; an alpha should get to breed and mate anything zer could catch, according to traditionalists. Romance novels very often used that device, the reluctant omega with the tempestuous relationship to the stern alpha end up mated in the woods and try to make mated life work, each doubting the other's love until at last they realize it was all meant to be. Only, in real life, mated pairs made by force on either side rarely turned out well.

  
Safety precautions were hard won, but worth it. They weren't foolproof, of course. There were still problems. Merlin knew if someone aimed to misbehave, they were going to, no matter the limitations, restrictions or obstacles before them. And, though rare these days, there were still occasional reports of alphas and their 'chaperones' who formed big temporary packs which operated essentially like rape-gangs, though to hear them tell it, it was their God-given natural right to have a whole pack swarm a single omega and pin zer down.

  
“I don't think I can go,” Merlin said, eyes dropping down to his remaining half a sandwich on the plastic wrap.

  
“Lance and I have talked about possibly both of us chaperoning next year, if you were going,” Gwen said.

  
If Lance had proved one thing, it was that he would step in between two alphas. Leon too. Merlin had to give them their proper due for that.

  
“I registered last week,” Freya reported.

  
She'd probably been working up to tell them when Morgana landed and brought with her a world of upheaval.

  
“Well, then, I can chaperone you. Lance agreed to take over Leon's turn this year with Arthur. Lance thinks we might have a week, since he's sure Arthur is going to find his omega.” Gwen said. Under the table she nudged Merlin with her foot. He ignored it. He was handling it. He just had to click a SEND button, and it was done.

  
“Oh. What are you going to do about that, Merlin?” Freya asked.

  
Merlin froze. He felt Gwen do the same beside him. They watched Freya take out a cracker and munch on it calmly.

  
Gwen cleared her throat. “Freya...?” she asked tentatively “...What do you mean?”

  
Freya looked up, her eyes innocent and a little puzzled as she beheld the two of them staring at her. “About Arthur.”

  
Neither Merlin nor Gwen, apparently, could think of anything to say. Merlin was battling a stomach churning with ill-ease. What did Freya know? How did she know it? When did she know it? Did she know it? How much did she know if she knew something, and should he confirm or deny? How many more people were going to tumble into his secret? He trusted Freya, but the more people who knew about Arthur, the more chance for simple, human error there was.

  
Freya's brow furrowed with raising perception. “Oh, are we not supposed to talk about it? I guess it is kind of a bad time. I'm sorry.”

  
Merlin exchanged a look with Gwen. His was uh-what-was-that-exactly? while Gwen's was do-you-want-to-discuss-this?  
The answer was not really, no. He wanted to know the whys and wherefores of Freya's knowledge, but just not right now. It would be one drop too many.

  
“Well, Lance and I were thinking we'd make a mini-vacation of it while we're chaperoning,” Gwen carried on over the rough quiet. “There's some hiking in the area, swimming, and we could go antiquing.”

  
“Lance antiques?” Merlin asked, latching onto the topic.

  
“Well, he was open to trying it out,” Gwen said.

  
“If I recall, Lance is happy doing anything as long as the company is good,” Morgana's cultured voice broke in.

  
They all swiveled to look at the door to Merlin's office. There stood Morgana. She wore enormous sunglasses and a crocheted snood that, knowing what Merlin knew now, she'd probably made herself. She wore a pair of tight black jeans and a gray blouse under a long black coat and carried an enormous black handbag. She still looked like an impressive fashion plate even while trying to dress down.

  
“What are you doing here?” Merlin blurted. He jumped up from his seat and scurried over to usher Morgana inside and close the door behind her after checking to make sure the hallway was empty.

  
“Merlin, don't be rude,” Gwen chided softly. She had risen too, and smiled a welcome at Morgana. “Hello, we didn't get to meet properly the other day. I'm Gwen.”

  
Gwen held out a hand. Morgana regarded it a moment before peeling off a black glove and shaking it. “Hello.”

  
Then she glanced at Freya, who smiled and waved another carrot stick in greeting. Morgana smiled and strode over to plop in Merlin's vacated chair behind the desk. She pulled off the sunglasses and perched them on her head.

  
Merlin reached over to grab his sandwich, then went to stand by the door to be look out. Morgana in the building made him antsy. He was concerned about who may be lurking around to pop out and catch Morgana there.

  
“I got bored, and she wanted me to cook.” Morgana gave a little shudder of dislike while she doffed her coat.

  
“Not a fan?” Gwen asked.

  
“No, but then, in my line of work there isn't much need.”

  
“I guess you can just have anything you want delivered,” Gwen acquiesced.

  
Morgana gave a little sound of amusement. “Something like that.”

  
“I'm not sure campus is the safest place for you,” Merlin said, drawing them away from the question of whether or not Morgana actually ate, except when on a nude doughnut binge. “Do you want the keys to my apartment?”

  
“It's fine, no one gave me a second look,” Morgana said.

  
“Are you sure?” Merlin asked.

  
“I'd be in more trouble at a Starbucks, they notice people there. These kids are far too involved with themselves and their classes.” Morgana waved a hand dismissively.

  
Freya gave a laugh. She and Gwen offered Morgana lunch items which were declined, and chatted in the most amiable fashion.  
As with Arthur, the sudden injection of a celebrity into their lives was somehow strangely normal. On the one hand, it should be. Were celebrities not people too? Just people whose lives were publicized? Yet, through the commonplace conversation there still was some core of disbelief for Merlin. There was Gwen and Freya, and, oh yes, someone who'd been on the cover of Vogue. It wasn't that Merlin was in awe, more that it conflicted rather splendidly with his ideas of reality and the way it worked. Arthur Pendragon and Morgana le Fey had simply walked off their respective magazine covers and into the ordinary lives of some professors at Albion U. The air of the unreal lingered about the room, no matter how much Merlin told himself to be normal.

  
He ate his sandwich without tasting it, his mind far from their conversation until he thought to check the time. “Sorry, I have to get set up for Intro to Breeders and Gender Studies.”

  
Morgana stretched. “Don't you have some peon assistant for that?”

  
Indeed he did, but when Merlin arrived on Monday Alice Cullen hadn't been there. It was unusual. Alice usually beat him there by some strange sixth sense, always knowing exactly when he was going to arrive. This was the third day she hadn't reported for her TA duties. It was unusual, but then, Alice was a college student, and she was, upon occasion, a bit like a wafting sprite. Could be she and her boyfriend had gone away for Halloween, and had been distracted by amorous costumed shenanigans. Oh, it nagged at him, and he'd have a word with her about leaving him high and dry, possibly reflecting in her grade, but overall he wasn't going to lose his mind over it.

  
“Yes,” Merlin said.

  
“She's a little AWOL,” Freya added helpfully. She squinted at the clock. “I have a figure drawing class.”

  
There was much rustling as everyone disposed of lunch waste and collected their things. Merlin began to gather the proper materials. He heard Gwen inviting Morgana over for dinner, and Morgana agreeing as she walked them to the door.  
When Gwen and Freya had gone, Morgana wandered to Merlin's shelves. She looked at his books and the knick-knacks littering the untidy shelves.

  
“I thought about college, you know,” Morgana said, the comment almost deceptively casual. She picked up a chunk of crystal from one of the shelves and wiped one of the planes free of dust with a fingertip.

  
“You did?” Merlin asked, pausing as he loaded his bag.

  
“Yes. It just didn't happen. One minute I was sleeping on a very nice lesbian couple's floor, letting their pot-head neighbor across the hall take pictures of me when he got done with his Bar Mitzvah gigs. One of those dime a dozen I'm-gonna-make-it-big-someday guys. The next thing I knew Givenchy was knocking.”

  
“What happened to the guy?” Merlin asked.

  
“He got a gallery showing and people were more interested in me than in his pictures of me. He committed suicide a year or so later.”

  
“I'm sorry.”

  
“It wasn't my fault. I tried to get him jobs, but he wanted to be unhappy about it.” Morgana shrugged and then whirled to face him, abruptly changing the subject. “Why don't I play PA today?”

  
“TA,” Merlin corrected.

  
“Whatever. But I could hand out papers or whatever it is a TA does.”

  
Merlin looked at her doubtfully. “Are you sure that's a good idea?”

  
“It'll be fun!” Morgana countered. “A little college experience for the underprivileged model.”

  
She actually looked enthusiastic, which was more positive emotion than Merlin had seen her exude. He wanted to encourage it, in order to make up for her overall bummer week, rather than quash it and send her back into a funk. The feasibility of it bothered him, though.

  
“You can't wear sunglasses to class,” he said. “And people will be looking at you when they notice you're not Alice and because they will pay attention to every possible distraction to avoid the lecture.”

  
Morgana twitched her mouth in grudging allowance. She seemed prepared to accept defeat, then she snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “Give me five minutes.”

  
And she rushed out.

  
Merlin felt a little non-plussed, but he resumed gathering necessary items until the door swung open once more.

  
He recognized Morgana's outfit. The rest of her had been surprisingly transformed with very little effort. Her hair was pulled into a new style, with strands dripping in front of her face. She had a pair of glasses on that must have come out of the big purse. Her pristine porcelain complexion and the tidy make-up were gone; she was a little blotchy with a mole on her chin she hadn't had when she'd left. Her nose was somehow different, too, the shaping subtle. Contouring with color, maybe? She looked like a nerdy approximation of herself.

  
“Wow,” Merlin admired. “How did you do all that?” It was an impressive and quick transformation.

  
“Eyeshadow. Eyeliner. Props. Come on, how do I TA?” She nigh dragged him off to the lecture hall.

  
Class was something of a whirlwind. Merlin's attention was split between his lecture on Breeders, Science and Social Change, and Morgana. She had no idea how to set up the projector, but she gave it a good try until early students began to file in and settle themselves. When Merlin took over, she went to the blackboard and wrote Dr. Merlin Emrys, Breeders and Gender Studies on the board in tidy letters, stacked papers, and generally fluffed his stuff eagerly.

  
When he began speaking she settled into a seat in the front row, where she sat paying avid attention. She seemed to treat the whole event as a kind of novelty Merlin couldn't help but find a little amusing.

  
Merlin felt sure that after class she'd grow bored and depart. Instead she remained through the end of that lecture and then through both his Sexual Ideology and Breeders and Omegas in Literature classes, into the evening.

  
“That was fun!” she said when the last of the students had filed out and Merlin had begun collapsing the laptop. She approached his table and began to gather up stacks of papers.

  
“TA for a day,” Merlin agreed.

  
Morgana was fixing her hair, pulling it back once more from her face. “We should have dinner. My treat. Gwen, Freya, invite who you like. How about the guy you talk about -- Gwaine?”

  
“Uh, let's leave that for now. I'm worried enough about Sophia knowing about you.”

  
Morgana made a noise of acceding. “Not what I expected, but then families are hardly uniform.”

  
“I should warn you, she has her eye on Arthur something fierce.”

  
“He almost deserves her,” Morgana said flippantly.

  
Merlin was about to answer when Cenred let himself into the lecture hall.

  
“Ah, Merlin, so glad I caught you,” Cenred slowed when he saw Morgana but no recognition lit his face. He only quirked his mouth, likely continued unhappiness at catching Merlin with company. Again.

  
“May I have a word, Professor Emrys?” Cenred asked.

  
Merlin nodded to Morgana, who'd raised a brow looking at Cenred. She flicked her gaze back to Merlin, but was doing a rather poor job at looking invisible. With his nod though, she picked up her coat and sashayed up the steps, and past Cenred.

  
He looked at her ass on the way out. Merlin rolled his eyes.

  
Cenred waited until the door closed behind Morgana before coming down the last few steps.

  
“I see you got a sub for Ms. Cullen,” Cenred commented.

  
Merlin sincerely doubted Cenred remembered the name of most of the paid staff, let alone those of the teaching assistants, so this raised a note of wariness in his chest. “Just temporarily,” he said.

  
“It might be a good idea to make some permanent arrangements for the remainder of the semester,” Cenred said.

  
Clearly Cenred was in possession of some information that Merlin was not, but Merlin refused to acknowledge his ignorance. Despite how petty it was, he couldn't bear to let Cenred have something over him in any form.

  
“I'm more than satisfied with Alice's performance thus far. If she finds she cannot continue her work, I'd prefer she decline herself,” Merlin said evenly.

  
“Now, Merlin. Think. How would that look for the department?”

  
“I don't know. How would it look?” Merlin asked, knowing that little troubled the network of quiet suppression and discrimination more than actually vocalizing what it was they were doing. The whole deal thrived behind a veil of inference and euphemism.

  
Cenred sighed. “Look, Merlin, I know it's unfair, I'm with you there. But sometimes life is just that: unfair. She can't help that her brother is unbalanced, but who is to say if it isn't genetic, hmm? We don't want to take that risk, do we?”

  
Merlin stopped packing turned to face Cenred fully. “Let me get this straight. The college wants me to dismiss Alice Cullen from her position because of something her brother has done? Have I got that right?”

  
“Well, it's not an order, clearly. But I'm sure if you sit her down and explain things, she'll soon see reason and pull out of her own accord, for the good of the college.”

  
His jaw clenched, but Merlin forced himself to hold his very raw temper. It was a near thing. He was tired, worried about Arthur, Morgana, Daegal, his study, his secret, his entire flipping life, and now Alice. What had happened? It must have been bad if she'd gone incommunicado. How did Cenred know, and not he?

  
And how could Cenred just mosey on in and speak this injustice without the tiniest measure of shame?

  
“So you're saying she's tainted by association,” Merlin said.

  
Cenred sighed. “I know what you feel, Merlin, Lord knows I feel it too.” He came near to Merlin, standing far too close under the guise of leaning against the table. All of a sudden his face was written with contrition. “But I know how you feel things so vividly, part of being, well, you know, so I can--”

  
“Excuse me?” Merlin snapped.

  
“It's all right, I'll keep your secret.” Cenred smiled in a sweetly conspiratorial way.

  
He didn't know jack. He was fishing. Merlin's low simmer desire to punch Cenred ratcheted up to a hot boil. He grit his teeth, not daring to speak, for as soon as he opened the mouth, he had no idea what might come out.

  
Cenred carried on, still leaning into Merlin's personal space. “The problem is, it's been a rough year for Albion U, with that murder over the summer, and now an attack in the dorms. We don't need any more bad press.”

  
“I won't do it, Cenred.”

  
A sigh. “I'm sure if you think about it--”

  
The tone, like Merlin was a wayward child almost frayed away the last of Merlin's control. He held it down, but his next words were sharper than he otherwise would have liked them to be, in this situation. “No. You want it, you send me an email, or a letter. If it's all above board you won't mind documenting it, having it be part of an official record.”

  
“Now, Merlin.” Cenred ceased leaning against the table in a casual slouch. He stood fully, the tolerant expression going cold and impatient. He loomed over Merlin, and it was like a floodgate of displeasure washed over Merlin's skin, hot and prickling. If Merlin hadn't worked so hard to overcome his socialization of being pleasant at all costs and his omega instinct to demur (and being sorely tested this weekend and succeeded), he might have wilted, but he stood up to the tactic, staring right back at Cenred, refusing to back away.

  
“Merlin. Be reasonable. I'm asking you to do this, that should be reason enough,” Cenred said.

  
“No, it isn't. And if you didn't know it wasn't unethical as hell, you wouldn't have a problem letting there be record of it. Now please step back, you are making me very uncomfortable with your proximity.” Merlin replied, looking him dead in the eye, and knowing that he was asking, asking for trouble at the same time as he was standing up for the most basic of rights, and refusing to be bullied. He'd had enough of that.

  
“Professor, your office is locked,” came a pointedly loud and whiny voice from the top of the lecture hall.

  
Morgana had stepped inside the door. Merlin sent a brief prayer of thanks.

  
“I'm sorry, did I interrupt?” she asked, and probably not even fooling Cenred with the recalcitrant tone.

  
Merlin stared into Cenred's eyes a moment longer, then grabbed his case and bustled up the aisle, leaving Cenred behind as they headed into the hall.

  
“What was that about?” Morgana asked outright, and Merlin somehow wasn't surprised she'd been eavesdropping.

  
“I don't fully know,” Merlin said. As they strode up the hall he broke his don't-be-a-creepy-texting-professor rule and pulled out his phone to shoot off a message to Alice. He'd considered texting her when she was absent Monday, but it had been a holiday weekend. He didn't want to be policing her, and honestly, with everything going on in his life? It was easy to set it aside while facing more pressing issues.

  
A clammy feeling lingered around his skin. He'd been able to weasel aside before, slip and slide, misdirect Cenred's behavior, which had loitered too closely on the cusp of acceptability for him to make noise about it. And now? He didn't regret it in any form, but he'd been unprepared for today being the day Merlin declared a form of challenge. Or, more aptly, a refusal to yield which betided a need for dominance to be asserted.

  
Well. From now on, every i had to be dotted, every t crossed. Perfectly.

  
“Well, something is clearly up. And was that creep your boss?” Morgana asked.

  
“Department head. Look, Morgana, I need to get to the bottom of this.”

  
“Fine. We'll get take out and go to Gwen's.”

  
“But--”

  
“No.”

 

 

Morgana ordered a massive amount of Chinese food which she didn't appear to eat any of, but she plied Gwen and Merlin with it. Freya was with Sophia and was unable to join their impromptu dinner party. It wasn't much of a party any way, seeing as Merlin was glued to the laptop and Morgana would only eat the steamed vegetables.

  
Over the previous weekend Merlin's preoccupation had been with Morgana, so he'd missed the big story making some of the local papers:

  
**Albion Alpha Attacks and Kidnaps Omega**

  
The story was nearly macabre. Pre-med student Edward Cullen had been following student Isabella Swan for weeks, and was known to hang around her dorm after dark. She'd complained to her friends about his uncomfortable loitering and, according to them, had attempted to report his behavior to the campus police. Seeing as Cullen hadn't done anything, Campus Police claimed there was nothing they could do about the socially awkward alpha, but recommend she try and avoid him. One pattern of escalation later, Cullen forced her into the trunk of his Volvo after a party. He'd driven her to a remote cabin, kept her prisoner for two days after assaulting her and forcefully trying to bond. Swan sustained severed neck lacerations, though had been being well tended by Cullen, her new mate, who had been convinced people were trying to take her from him.

  
Cullen had brought her to the hospital when she attempted to commit suicide with some broken glass towards the end of the weekend.

  
“Fuck,” Merlin breathed.

  
Gwen got up and squinted over her shoulder. She made a rueful sound.

  
“My TA's brother,” Merlin said.

  
“The world, these days,” Gwen said on a sigh.

  
Merlin frowned at the screen, scrolling through the coverage, and the lurid and frantic descriptions of Cullen's ranting about his one true mate, and the enemies that lurked near, unless he kept her safe and protected.

  
“Is it the world?” Merlin asked after a moment.

  
“Shooting up the school seems like a popular solution to problems these days,” Morgana added.

  
“No, but, Edward Cullen, that other -- John Mitchel. Two crazy violent alpha-on-omega crimes? You rarely get one of those on campus, let alone two a year.”

  
“It's the culture. I still cannot understand why it's all right to mutilate someone on network television, but you can't see someone orgasm. I mean, don't we all like orgasms? Can't we all agree eye gouging is bad?” Gwen returned to her shrimp and some early menu planning she was working on for Thanksgiving.

  
“I know a couple of photographers who love orgasm faces,” Morgana said.

  
“So, stationary sex-eyes with a purse which apparently gives orgasms is good, but not actual orgasms?” Gwen shook her head.  
“Less gyrating.” Morgana grinned toothily. “Though I can't say I didn't orgasm a little when I got my first Hermes bag.”

  
“Seriously, Gwen. Something about this is weird,” Merlin said, shaking his head. He opened a new tab on his browser and sought out information on the first attack, which had ended in a slaying. Isabella Swan had been lucky, really.

  
“It's like the suicides, Merlin, statistics tell us this is a much more violent world than twenty years ago, even. It's sad,” Gwen poked her garlic chicken with her chopsticks then set the little white box down. She began picking up other cartons and peering into them.

  
“I know, but, would you look at something for me?”

  
Gwen nodded. “Sure.”

  
Merlin leaned over and dug the copies of Gwaine's findings from his bag and handed them over. Gwen accepted the stapled pages with one hand, the other now holding chopsticks and a spring roll. She bit off the end of the roll and crunched as she read.

  
“What is this?” She asked.

  
“An analysis of some medication Alice Cullen found in her brother's dorm.”

  
“Drugs?” Gwen asked, brows raised.

  
Merlin nodded toward the paper. Gwen went back to scanning. Her open expression changed slowly to one of puzzlement.  
“Huh,” Gwen murmured, and wedged the rest of the roll in her mouth in order to rifle the pages.

  
Morgana gave a chuckle, and Merlin saw her watching Gwen with amusement. He didn't observe long, but returned his attention to Gwen.

  
“What is it?” he asked.

  
Cheeks bulging, Gwen raised a finger to stay him until she'd swallowed. “Not sure. I mean, not really my field. Do you mind if I ask around?”

  
“Discreetly and hypothetically?” Merlin said hopefully.

  
“Of course.”

 

ᴥ

  
_Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Cultur _e by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

  
_Subject: Book, Derrial_   
_Sexugender/Physiogender: betamale_   
_Orientation: heterosexual_   
_Marital Status: Single, celibate_

_I wasn't the kind of person you'd want to know, as a young man. I could say I was born poor, but it isn't much of an excuse for the things I did. For the things I was willing to do. I played my part in some civil rights movements, but I did the kinds of things they don't like to write about in the history books. The dirty kind of fighting that I was suited to, because of the man I was. The thankless kind, which leaves you with nothing, in the end._

  
_That is how I found Jesus. I had lost everything, and in him, found it anew. [Laughter] Don't worry, I'm not going to preach, I can see you looking worried._

  
_I've dedicated myself to the Lord, as he has shown me a true path, and have chosen to adopt a regimen of suppressants to fully immerse myself as a messenger. To remove myself as a being of earthly pulls, as I yearn to be more spiritual. I find people sometimes find this more comforting. They can talk to me as a heavenly representative, rather than be concerned about all my mortal attributes. It also places me in a different class; I don't belong to one side or the other; I exist in an in-between state, closer to the divine._

 

ᴥ

  
When Arthur called the next evening Merlin answered out of guilt. He'd been ignoring Arthur's texts, or, at least, offering the most non-descript and brief of answers. He simply hadn't been ready to deal with the memory of someone who might have been his alpha snarling like that.

  
He'd also let Arthur's emails languish unanswered in his inbox, though that was more because he was tired and Arthur asked a lot of questions about Morgana that Merlin was not at liberty to answer. And didn't really want to, either.

  
But now, as he fumbled to let himself into the apartment Merlin saw the display and felt bad. He answered.

  
“There you are,” Arthur said in lieu of a greeting. There was relief mixed in under irritation, “Where have you been?”

  
“My job?”

  
“You've already given the mid-term; you don't have much to do until the final.”

  
“I still have to teach, Arthur,” Merlin reminded him.

  
“Please, the same lecture every year, I bet you have them all memorized and could do them in your sleep, that's hardly work.” Arthur's tone was jolly ribbing, rather than aiming to hurt.

  
Still. “I don't,” Merlin said. Normally there would be a degree of outrage and a lecture on his principles, but he just wasn't in the mood to raise to the occasion.

  
Arthur apparently noticed too. “What's up with you?”

  
“Nothing.” Merlin won the small battle with his door and the armload of belongings, booted it open and dropped his things in a clatter.

  
“No,” Arthur said, and Merlin might have been mistaken, but Arthur sounded oddly concerned. “You're being all odd.”

  
“You've been accusing me of some variation of that since we met,” Merlin said. He left his things in a heap and trod to the kitchen to stand in front of the open refrigerator.

  
“This is different,” Arthur insisted.

  
“I'm just tired,” Merlin said. He stared into the depths of his fridge, half zoning, half honestly deliberating his dining choices. He needed to go grocery shopping.

  
“Tired? Why?”

  
Where to begin the list?

  
“Stuff. Bad mattress. Long day.”

  
“Where's your useless boyfriend?”

  
“You mean Daegal.”

  
“Yes. Shouldn't he be rubbing your feet or something?”

  
“What?”

  
“Well, because he's--” Arthur broke off awkwardly then resumed, “your boyfriend.”

  
Merlin had a sneaking suspicion that Arthur was going to say 'the omega' but had caught himself in time to save them a disagreement. Ordinarily, Merlin might have called Arthur on it, but since Arthur was self policing and was learning how inflammatory Merlin found those statements to be, he let it go and hoped Arthur was beginning to understand why they were objectionable on principle.

  
Also, Daegal had been rubbing his feet earlier in the week, but that was pure happenstance, and Merlin was not bringing it to bear against Arthur's snobbery.

  
Merlin took a package of string cheese and plopped himself on the couch. “My busy television show-having boyfriend, Daegal. Whom I do not live with to be extracting such services at my whim.”

  
“Will you?” Arthur asked, then hastened to add “I mean, is that a thing that could be a thing sometime soon?”

  
“There are no things, Arthur. I'm perfectly happy having my own space.” Merlin fumbled with the cheese wrapper, and found he'd lost patience with this whole discussion. “What do you want?”

  
“Have you spoken to Morgana?”

  
“Daily.”

  
“I want to come down this weekend to see her.”

  
“Why, so you can bully her and the two of you can kill each other?” Merlin found himself snapping.

  
It was silent on the other end of the line for a long minute.

  
At last Arthur said, “I didn't mean for it to go like that.”

  
“Yeah, well, it did. And now I don't know why I should want to help you talk to her,” Merlin said, peeling strings off the cheese and devouring them.

  
“She fanged first,” Arthur pointed out.

  
“Fuck, Arthur, you're a grown man. Don't 'she started it' at me!”

  
Arthur was silent again.

  
Merlin sighed. “Do you get why Morgana is freaked, at least?”

  
“...I can't talk about it, yet. All those things she said, I just—I can't. Not yet. Tell me you understand that, Merlin. That I can't believe my father would do the things she said.” Arthur said thinly.

  
“Then why talk to her now? If you can't accept her experiences as the truth, what would be the point of it?”

  
“I just don't want to waste this opportunity to solidify things, to build a bridge.”

  
“You make it sound like some kind of business acquisition.”

  
“Lovely to know you think so highly of me, Merlin. Oddly enough, I just want my sister back.”

  
They only talked a little longer before Merlin begged off, citing weariness. Arthur was weirdly receptive.

 

  
When he woke up the next morning it was to two sets of delivery people. One with a queen size Hypnos luxury mattress worth several thousand dollars, box springs and the second with wooden bed frame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter, I know, but I think we needed a breather. Don't have a post date for the next part, though it is started, time will tell. I'm relocating for the summer, so there were will be some upheaval delay as I get resettled, but fear not! I'll be in the car for 9 hours with a notebooks, and some good may come of it yet.


	6. 6. I'm Just Keeping An Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone kiss Kes and Stray! They deserve it for hanging on the Periomma APOCALYPSE. My amazing betas!
> 
> Slight trigger warning; there is a brief discussion about rape in this chapter, not that someone has been, but just an over all talk about.

Heart in a Headlock: Chapter 6  
I'm Just Keeping An Eye

 

Morgana arrived as a harried Merlin was directing four delivery men through his apartment, which was not really fit to have workmen carrying heavy things to and fro. Usually, when one knew to expect strangers in the house, one could make sure there were no dirty dishes out, that the bedroom wasn't a bit of a disaster with clothes all over, or, hell, the footpath to their point of purpose was clear. As Merlin was not expecting four beefy guys who were slightly miffed at delivering things so early, his place was a mess.

  
There was a small scuffle while men began dismantling his bed as Merlin was still trying to confirm that they did not have the wrong address. Apparently Merlin was having a bed delivered. Someone named A. Pendragon had called both businesses and, presumably after throwing a great deal of money around, bought the antique wooden bedframe, the mattress and the box- springs. He'd also convinced the mattress guys to remove the old mattress and box springs and dispose of them.

  
It was incredibly presumptuous and aggravating of Arthur, more so because Merlin was galloping around in his pajamas, apologizing and scrambling to move his possessions before anything unfortunate happened. It wasn't that he was attached to his old bed, if a mattress on a metal frame could be called that exactly. Frankly, it was a crappy third hand mattress he'd spent very little money on when he was an undergraduate. It was a little lumpy, and should have been replaced so as not to do him lasting spinal damage years ago.  
However, like most of his apartment, he just hadn't gotten around to it. In all likelihood, he wouldn't have made any particular effort to, either. And, unlike his couch or his curtains or anything else in the more public areas of his abode, Gwen didn't feel she could interfere with the bedroom. Consequently, his bedroom was still the domain of the incredibly cheap and falling apart household goods he'd purchased when he was a struggling student.

  
Gwen had tarted up the remainder of the apartment into something presentable once she was clear that Merlin thought of the place more as book-storage and biology-refreshing station than home. Home was still, in many ways, his attic room at his mother's. The apartment was where he resided for now.  
That did not mean he wanted uninvited men and furniture.

  
Morgana worked around the crowd and made herself comfortable on the couch and watched the circus with open schadenfreude from behind her sunglasses and beret.

  
“Well,” she said when the men at last departed. “Someone's a lucky boy.” She divested herself of her disguise, tossing her beret on the couch.

  
Merlin, whose bedroom was now a complete disaster and was behind his usual morning schedule, pointed at her aggrievedly. “Your brother is an inconsiderate pig!”

  
“Aw, you poor lamb.” Morgana clicked her tongue at him. “I expect he rather thought it was going to be like the Boudoir Fairy came, all magical new furniture and you'd fall all over yourself in gratitude.”

  
“Seriously, you don't just buy someone a bed and have it delivered without _telling_ them!” Merlin huffed.

  
“Well, he could hardly buy you a Harry Winston emerald ring.” Morgana waggled her hand at him.

  
Merlin trod over to look at the new, huge stone on her finger. It was platinum, with diamonds wreathing the great square of vivid green. He knew next to nothing about jewelry, technically, but the real stuff had a dimension of beauty to it that glass just couldn't pull off. It was a hell of a ring.

  
“You could buy a house for what this cost,” he said, his exasperation abating to some grudging wonderment in the face of Arthur's largesse.

  
Morgana made a little noise and tilted her hand to admire the ring. “Terribly pedestrian setting, really, but then, Arthur's a bit boring.”

  
Merlin opened his mouth to point out that Arthur's taste was classic, rather than boring or pedestrian, or whatever else Morgana would term it. However, since Merlin had seen her on the catwalk bedecked in a lampshade someone mistook as a skirt and a floral patterned shirt/straight jacket/balaclava hybrid, he wasn't sure he trusted her judgment anyway. Then he closed his mouth because he was a little horrified he'd come to a conclusion about Arthur's tastes at all.

  
“Come on, let's see it.” Morgana lifted herself off the couch and headed for his bedroom. Without waiting for his permission, she let herself in. Then again, she'd be the fifth person who'd wandered in today, and the only one who wasn't a complete stranger.

  
The room was on the small side, and the bed now dominated the space. The curving sleigh head and foot boards were solid mahogany, stained a rich, warm color. Merlin had glimpsed the paperwork during his initial confusion, and knew the snowy mattress had put Arthur out six thousand dollars. Merlin couldn't fathom spending that much on a roomful of furniture, let alone one piece. The rest of the cheap furniture had been shuttered into the corner to free up space, like grotesques shying away from the holy light of the pedigreed bed, lest it burn their particle board skins with its beauty.

  
Merlin lingered in the doorway while Morgana strode over piles of laundry and stacks of papers. Atop everything else, now he had to buy new sheets, as his old bed had been a twin, and this was a queen.

  
“Not bad, but then he did learn from the guru of gift apology,” Morgana said.

  
“Who?”

  
“Uther. When he couldn't make it to things, or just forgot, he would buy something. Or, more likely, his PA did it and the extent of Uther's involvement was a swipe of his card.” She went to the bed and sat. With a contemplative expression, she bounced on it and made an approving sound.

  
Merlin stared at the bed. It was giving him severely disparate feelings which, short of calling Arthur and raging at him, he could only vent by glaring at the bed vehemently.

  
“Have you tried it?” Morgana asked.

  
“No.”

  
She beckoned him to join her.

  
Merlin squinted at his clock. “I've got to get ready.”

  
“One minute. You can take one minute. Come here.”

  
Merlin sighed, but trotted over to her.

  
He inspected the mattress. “I really ought to get some kind of cover before we tou–Ah!”

  
Morgana yanked him down beside her. “Christ, shut the fuck up.”

  
She let herself tumble back, and when Merlin didn't immediately follow suit she grabbed a handful of his t-shirt and dragged him back to follow her example and lie down. Then she folded her hands demurely across her stomach.

  
Though he was yanked down, Merlin found himself groaning as he stretched out and was enveloped by comfort. The mattress was fluffy, with a core of firmness to cradle him. Against Merlin's will, he relaxed into it.

  
“I know,” Morgana said consolingly.

  
“It's like sleeping on a fucking cloud,” Merlin moaned, and then growled because it became slightly harder to be mad at Arthur when the bed was so very nice.

  
They lay there in quiet for a few seconds. Merlin let his eyes drift closed and considered just going back to sleep on the cushy mattress. After slaughtering Arthur.

  
“I'm sure Arthur feels a trifle embarrassed about the other day, which is why we've gotten such lovely things, however...” The mattress rocked slightly.

  
Merlin slitted an eye and found Morgana lying on her side, facing him. “What?”

  
She was regarding him speculatively, “Tell me, Professor Emrys; why has my prick of a brother bought you this large, and, it must be said, conjugal-sized bed? ”

  
Merlin rolled his eyes. “Ask him. It appeared this morning without warning.”

  
He rolled to sit up, since he couldn't be frittering away his time in this manner. He headed to the closet to pick out some clothes. He was due at Dr. Kilgarrah's before heading to campus, and had a little less than an hour to head out before he was late.

  
Morgana didn't bother to sit up. In fact, she raised her arms up to splay above her head. It looked unfettered and relaxed, but Merlin had an inkling of how staged it was, especially when she peered at him from under half lowered eyelashes. “Please, Professor. You don't think I didn't notice the little display the other day? And now this big bed? Maybe it's just not time for Harry Winston _yet_.”

  
“You're getting over excited over nothing. I told Arthur my bed was giving me back-aches the other day. I didn't expect random bitching to bear fruit, but it wasn't unprovoked.” Merlin said. He picked a brown suit and hung it over the foot-board of his new bed, not feeling in the mood to discuss whatever conclusions Morgana was convinced she'd come upon.

  
“Don't be dense. Suggested or not, this is a big bed. And when he thought I was going to turn on you, his panties got in one hell of a bunch.” Morgana's eyes licked briefly over the suit, then fastened back on Merlin with a probing intensity. “Before that he was just responding in kind, as much as I'm sure he thinks of it as some beastly loss of control to even slip fang. But you, Professor, made him _mean_ it.”

  
That made Merlin pause en route to the dresser. Something about it did niggle, now it was voiced out loud. About standing between them, and Arthur amping it from 50 clear to 100 when Morgana so much as looked at Merlin.

  
And now a bed.

  
But then, there was Arthur and Lance and all the fencing gear. He'd just told Arthur he had a crappy mattress, which, yes, was to distract Arthur, but it still had been true. Arthur didn't know he'd been redirected; he was just trying to buy forgiveness or good will or … whatever it was he wanted. Probably exactly in the the way Uther had so plainly taught him by example. Merlin happened to have offered the perfect, extravagant solution by accident.

  
Merlin said, “I was the unaligned beta in the room, and I'm getting the impression that under the whole inconsiderate, presumptuous, alphahole, big bag of dicks thing, he's kind of a white knight. He bought us both guilt gifts because he felt guilty.”

  
“This a whole lot of guilty, more than I think he has a reason to feel,” Morgana said, wriggling around on the bed.

  
“Disciple of the gift guru,” Merlin reminded her.

  
Morgana sighed loudly.

  
Merlin went to pick out a shirt and tie.

  
“You must be speaking with him again, then,” Morgana said.

  
“He called,” Merlin confirmed, as he pawed through his ties.

  
Morgana finally lifted herself off the bed and joined him. She began a critical inspection of his little drawer of rolled up ties and selected a dark blue one, switched out his pre-selected white shirt for a pale blue one and dropped his brown suit into the waste basket by the bathroom door before retrieving his light gray suit from the closet and handing it to him.

  
“Um,” Merlin pointed to his binned suit. “That's my clothing.”

  
“It's completely the wrong color for you,” Morgana said dismissively.

  
“But – no, see it's my _clothing_ ,” Merlin insisted. “You can't just go throwing away my clothing on some whim —or, come to think of it, my bed!”

  
Morgana flicked a hand dismissively, “It was a mercy, trust me, probably on both counts. This is a much better color for you.”

  
“But, you can't just–”

  
“I already have done. Don't fret, I fully intend to pick you up some lovely nice things. What are you, a 40 in the jacket? You'll look just adorable in English Laundry. Some Hugo Boss...” Morgana smiled to herself in a rather satisfied way, clearly playing high fashion paper dolls with Merlin in her head. It made him feel uncomfortably naked.

  
“I'm not actually a charity case, if either of you two Pendragons care to notice. As I recall, you didn't like all this doing-stuff-to-people-without-their-permission either,” Merlin reminded her sharply. He went to get his suit out of the trash can, but Morgana slid effortlessly between them, blocking access.

  
“So, you're speaking to Arthur. What does he want?”

  
“You ask him. This is not the seventh grade, and I am not your go-between,” said Merlin, who was feeling rather peevish about the whole thing … even if he was sort of a go-between for two enemy lunch tables, intent on negotiating a cessation of hostility.

  
Morgana snorted. “Get dressed.”

  
Merlin herded her out of his room. He took the quickest shower possible and dressed in the outfit she'd chosen. He also rescued his brown suit, which he was rather fond of. Screw her and her brother.

  
As he came out he saw that Morgana had made him coffee and toast. He wolfed it down while he packed his bag. When he departed, he headed out of the building with Morgana.

  
She headed straight for his car.

  
“Uh, where are you going?” Merlin asked.

  
“Your TA isn't back, is she?” Morgana asked.

  
“No, but this is pushing your luck, Morgana.”

  
“No sense of adventure. Besides, yesterday was dull. I'd much rather go with you.” She knocked on the passenger window.

  
Seeing as he didn't have time to argue, Merlin climbed in. Perhaps he could just lock her in his office all day?  
“One more day,” he warned her. “Tomorrow you call your lawyers.”

  
Morgana made an airy sound which might either have been a confirmation or a dismissal. They got in the car, belted in and Merlin found himself subjected to some weird industrial music with a woman whining in what sounded a lot like Hindi.

  
When they arrived in front of Kilgarrah's ramshackle house, Merlin parked and unbuckled himself. “I'll just be a few minutes.”

  
“Sure. Crack the windows; I'll just wait here like a good poodle,” Morgana said scathingly.

  
Which of course meant she followed him up to the porch. Aithusa answered after his fourth ring of the doorbell. She was still in some Happy Bunny pajamas and held a big cup of coffee. Her expression was crotchety, though without the heavy amounts of make-up around her eyes she looked years younger. Merlin got a sloppy wave, then gestured in with the mug. Merlin signed his thanks and entered.

  
Morgana followed and in the dim of the foyer Aithusa squinted at her with curiosity. She snapped her fingers at Merlin and tapped the sign for cell phone on her cheek. It was one of the first signs she'd taught him, since she could use the text function to communicate with him, considering Merlin was still at novice level ASL. He dug out his phone and handed it over.

  
When Aithusa handed it back it read **[Who's the broad?]**. She was looking at Morgana from top to tip with intense scrutiny.

  
Merlin smiled and looked up at Morgana. “She wants to know who you are. What name should I give?”

  
“Morgana's fine.”

  
Incognito it was not.

  
 **[Morgana. Where's Kilgarrah?]** Merlin typed out.

  
Aithusa glanced at the screen, then pointed.

  
Merlin signed thanks and said, “Morgana, this is Aithusa. If you let her use your phone you guys can talk, though she lip reads pretty well. I'll just be a few minutes.” He gave Morgana Aithusa's name sign.

  
Morgana smiled at the bed-mussed Aithusa. “Hello cutie-pie.”

  
Merlin glanced between the two of them. Morgana looked focused and flirty. Aithusa looked a little flustered, which was a new sight for Merlin. He was accustomed to her brusque eye-rolling.

  
He left them to flirt in peace.

  
Kilgarrah was in his big Victorian study, which was off the large drawing room. Most of it was dusty and largely undisturbed since 1873, a dark cave of a room with a couple of mounted deer heads on the wall that had gone a bit tatty from neglect.

  
Merlin knocked before Kilgarrah rasped for him to enter. The doctor was sitting at the massive oak desk half buried under papers and books. He was already wearing his lab coat. Merlin sometimes wondered if he slept in it.

  
“Ah, young scientist,” Kilgarrah said, leaning back in his chair. It creaked ominously. “What brings you here so early?”

  
“Just on my way to work. I brought the applications.” Merlin held up a folder with the print-outs for placing several classified ads in the local papers. Seeing as they hadn't applied for grant money to study the unumverumconjunx, and it was only the three of them, the operation was largely shoddy...but still promising.

  
“Did you schedule Mordred's heat MRI?” Merlin checked.

  
“It is done. December 5th.”

  
“Are you sure you don't want me to help?”

  
Kilgarrah peered at him over the top of his glasses. “However reduced your hormonal interference would be while you live on suppressants, it may still prove distracting to the data, having two heated omegas.”

  
Merlin nodded. It wasn't as if he could help that his and Mordred's heats overlapped.

  
“If you were to go off your suppressants for your April heat, however, we might–”

  
“No.” Merlin didn't let him finish. That was all he needed right now. His first unsuppressed heat since he was a teenager. Arthur probably would be able to smell him were he stranded on an uncharted island in the Caribbean and covered in deer stink.

  
“I cannot help but think the potential for valuable data is being lost through obstinacy and shortsightedness,” Kilgarrah said.

  
“Thankfully we have Mordred and Kara to fill the gap. And with any luck, a few more pairs.” Merlin's eyes flitted to the applications briefly, then up to Kilgarrah, who looked disapproving.

  
“I'll see you tomorrow,” Merlin said.

  
Dr. Kilgarrah made a dissatisfied noise as Merlin turned and left him. He followed the only other sounds of life to the kitchen, where he found Morgana and Aithusa. Aithusa was sitting on the counter, with Morgana standing between her legs, her iPhone between them. They were sharing a pair of distinctly frisky smiles, and Merlin was almost certain he saw Morgana groping Aithusa's ass before he cleared his throat.

  
The goodbyes were lingering, and when they got back in the car Morgana said ,“Take me back to Finna's.”

  
“I thought you were TA-ing?”

  
“Well, not now. Now I've got a date and I need to go shopping,” Morgana said, the 'duh' in her voice plainly implied.

  
“What?”

  
“Aithusa is taking me to this underground club tonight. I don't have a thing to wear.”

  
“Seriously?” Merlin asked incredulously.

  
“Of course. Why aren't we driving?” Morgana peered out the window.

  
Merlin dumbly turned over the car. He was out the driveway before he could manage, “So – wait, you're going shopping. And on a date. Morgana, what about your statement? Giant media fiasco? Remember that?”

  
“Like I could forget?”

  
“What are you going to do about it?”

  
“Well. So glad you asked, Counselor Emrys. I am going to go listen to some fantastic music with a hot girl and then get laid, hopefully. Then the next day I am going to face my brother again, and try not to punch his fangs in, and early Monday morning I'll turn myself in to the proper authorities and make nice. Happy? Christ, you're bossy for an omega.”

  
“Oh, thanks, sexist remarks are just what this conversation needed.”

  
Morgana didn't say anything. She was staring out the window.

  
Merlin tried, gentler. “I just want you to take care of business and not take so many risks in a place awash with people taking selfies with their drunk friends.”

  
Morgana waved. “Trust me, Merlin, it's just going to be fun. I need to shake the lead out.”

  
Well. She had been cooped up. There was no denying that.

  
“And... Arthur?” Merlin couldn't resist asking.

  
“And Arthur what?”

  
“You're willing to talk with him again?”

  
“We'll see how it goes.” Morgana sounded just the smallest bit grim. In his peripheral vision Merlin saw her roll her head towards him, and felt her eyes lock onto him. “'Unaligned beta'?” she asked, parroting his words from much earlier in the morning at him.

  
Merlin bit the inside of his lip. He'd hoped that comment would be lost in passing.

  
Morgana made a sound in her nose. “Did you think I didn't notice how Dr. Emrys from last year was all blockers and anonymity and now he has magically become a beta? Not that I'm judging.”

  
“There were some extenuating circumstances which led to the necessity to smell like a beta,” Merlin said. He glanced at her. “If you wouldn't mind not mentioning it?”

  
“To whom? Your friends? I bet they already know.”

  
“To Arthur.”

  
Morgana fluffed her hair. “Now I can't help but wonder what difference it would make, considering he already wants to fuck beta-you.”

  
Merlin frowned. “He _doesn't_.”

  
“Oh, he does.”

  
“As you might not know, I'm dating someone and Arthur is on the trail of his mate. In a year you'll probably be an auntie.”

  
Morgana smirked. “I'm sure you'll make a glowing mother.”

  
Merlin refused to discuss it further. He drove the smug looking Morgana's back to Freya's where he drove off without a word of goodbye, though he could see Morgana giving him a little wave in his rear view mirror. He was almost late to his first class, but just made it. There was still no sign of Alice.

After his last class Merlin sped home in time to get cleaned up enough for Daegal to pick him up. They went to a nice restaurant downtown. Daegal schmoozed with some guy in a suit two tables over while Merlin absently deliberated the virtues of pasta or chicken at their table. He tuned back in when Daegal returned, pleased about this new contact and then launched into a lengthy byplay of that afternoon's taping with a certain councilwoman.

  
It was over warm apple caramel crepes that Daegal said, “I think we should talk about my heat.”

  
Merlin almost choked. He had to gulp down some wine before casting his gaze around the restaurant. It hardly seemed the location to be discussing homosexual reproductive plans.

  
“Uh, here? Now?” Merlin asked.

  
“Meh, no one else can hear. I'm an MSJ, like clockwork every year, first two weeks in January,” Daegal said.

  
MSJ, or, May-September-January was the most common. Merlin was an AAD; his heat was going to hit a month earlier than Daegal's, in the beginning of December. He realized abruptly that he probably hadn't shared this with Daegal. Then again, he wasn't in the habit of sharing that information with anyone, and honestly, it didn't really matter. While on suppressants the whole thing was subdued to a week long period of PHS, then another week of incessant low grade arousal and irritability. There was no writhing in sexual abandon, at least, not any more. When he was a teenager, sure, but nearly everyone lost their minds when they got full possession of functioning junk.

  
In truth, these days he didn't tend to play with himself as much during his heat. Possibly it was all the years of having it stifled, or his age, but it could also have been his determination not to turn his apartment into a stinking warzone of slutty omega urgency. Cleaning up a week of frantic, single-minded masturbation was kind of a bitch. He'd have to launder everything in the expensive scent-obliterating detergent, get the machine out and clean the bedroom carpets, scour the bathroom with bleach, leave the windows open for days to air it out, not to mention wipe down the walls. It wasn't really worth all the bother. So, when it got so bad he could no longer focus on the tv or his book, or whatever he was using to distract himself from the endless hours of low burning want, he'd capitulate and effect a quick climax to quell the itching under his skin.

  
In more recent years, he even went to work, feverish and grumpy as he was. It alleviated suspicion, if he didn't take the same three weeks off every year. So, he'd hose himself down, cloak himself in spray, put on a lube pad, take some Tylenol and white knuckle it through a few days.

  
“I'm just letting you know before the big Thanksgiving and Christmas crush, and the holidays take over our lives. So it doesn't sneak up,” Daegal continued.

  
“Okay.”

  
“I usually take a few days off, ride it out at my place. Maybe you'd like to join me?” Daegal smiled invitingly over the top of his wine glass.

  
Merlin had never actually had to deal with the focused attention of a fully-heated omega. Sure, he'd seen porn, both the over-produced stuff and the amateur videos people posted online of heated omegas writhing in need in the comfort of their own bedrooms while inexplicably in the background the news played, like they'd forgotten to turn the tv off while filming their porn. And there was that one year in college where he and some friends helped a femega through an unexpectedly early heat, but mostly that had entailed preventing her from escaping the dorms to find an alpha and keeping her plied with toys and lube. She hadn't made advances at the omegas or betas who attended her.

  
This would be different. This would be the full sexual force of an omega aimed at him. Daegal would actually desire him, and it would be a heated Daegal, lost under the force of biology that swallowed rationality down until the most primal of urges became sovereign.

  
More than that, though, this would be seeing Daegal at his most deconstructed, his most vulnerable. This was diving right into who a person was, and implied a level of commitment to one an other.

  
“Uh, well, I mean, it's been two months, and that's kind of a big step,” Merlin said, making a point to keep his tone light.

  
“It'll be three months, by the time it rolls around. Couple of knot toys, some heat-lube, I think you might have a nice time. Help you loosen up.” Daegal's smile widened. “I'm pretty sure one whiff of an omega on cycle would help things along. We could get some of that alpha spray stuff, and just, you know, go to town.” Daegal wiggled his brows.

  
Merlin coughed. They had definitely passed up appropriate public conversation talk.

  
“Daegal, let's discuss it later, okay?” Merlin entreated, aware he was blushing.

  
His fluster appeared to have contented Daegal, so he dropped it for the remainder of the meal. He was blithe and cheerful, as if he couldn't imagine why Merlin would have a problem discussing week long orgy in the middle of a four star restaurant.

  
They ate, paid, and piled back into Daegal's car, discussing recent news stories, topic apparently dropped. However, when the car pulled to a stop, it was downtown, and Merlin was cast by neon pink light in the passenger seat. When he looked up, it was into a glowing sign read **The Dungeon** , with the o shaped like a heart, and the D sporting a little devil tail. Merlin knew it in a vague sense, as it was the only adult shop for quite a wide radius, but he'd never been inside.

  
“Um,” Merlin said, glancing at Daegal.

  
“Just, come on in, okay? Give it a chance.” Daegal tugged Merlin's sleeve. “It's owned by this BDSM couple who are really into all forms of pleasure, it isn't skeevy at all.”

  
Merlin found himself following after Daegal. Wine colored curtains kept prying eyes from glimpsing something above their age bracket through the windows, and the front display was benign and Christmas flavored with festive lingerie, red boas and fake pine garlands. There was a big sign warning that no one under 18 was allowed.

  
The store was brightly lit. Inside it was much tidier and better organized than Merlin had thought it would be, with a lot of artful hand-painted signs identifying the different sections of products. Somewhere, something he recognized as Bach's Toccata in D-minor played in a shred metal style.

  
Behind the counter there was a pale momega with a weird grid tattoo on his bald head. His eyes were very dark and intense, catching onto them the moment they entered, and nodding a sleek kind of greeting.

  
“Do you require assistance?” he asked in a deep, articulate voice.

  
“Nah, we've got it, Elliot,” Daegal said. “Thanks.”

  
Under Elliot's gaze Daegal lead them towards the back of the store, passing the novelty goods, bachelorette and bachelor supplies, books and DVDs, through the lingerie, hosiery and assorted wearables to a staircase. They went down, and the way down along the wall were large framed photographs of a curly-haired woman bound in elaborate suspension shibari, more art than pornography. The intense counter guy, Elliot, was in a few of them, proving that his stare was just as arresting in photos as in reality.

  
The basement housed a mighty toy section filled to the brim with paraphernalia, and more signs with things like _Restraints and Bondage_ , _E-Stim_ and _Latex_ to direct the customer to their preferred kink.

  
Daegal clearly knew his way directly to the omega section with the _Heat Helpers_ sign.

  
Merlin had only one dildo his mother got him the year he gendered, and a little vibrating bullet he'd received as a gag gift. He'd never seen much point in adding to his feeble 'collection' as both got the job done satisfactorily, and what else could he ask for? Of course he'd known there was variety in the products available, but the sheer volume of choice was an amazing thing to actually see.

  
The length of the wall was covered with all manner of insertables. There were vibrators and dildos in every size, shape and color, beta-phallic and alphallic. Some of the alphallic ones had saggy rubber pouches which could be inflated into user-designated sized knots once inside. Still others were specially designed to simulate the alpha orgasm and, after knotting, dose the user with spurts of artificial hormone laden 'come'. There were vaginal plugs, anal plugs, slim bullets, sleeves, not to mention the fake semen and different lubricants. As they moved along the wall the products bled, the lubricants shifting from those intended for omegas into those for single alphas, simulated omega slick, and then, further along, sheaths, knot-grippers, omega channels, and other kinds of alpha specific toys.

  
Merlin took down an Omega Oo-La-La and blinked at the graphic of the coquettish looking femega posing beside a listing of product virtues, which included multiple vibrating speeds and a realistic knot.

  
Merlin glanced at Daegal, who threw him a smile and waggled an alpha phallus strap-on at him with brows raised in unworded invitation.

  
Merlin blanched and shook his head. He foisted the Omega Oo-La-La box back onto the hanging peg.

“Daegal, I'm really not comfortable with this,” he said firmly.

  
“Come on, Merlin. It's a new horizon!” Daegal reached out and tugged his hand, drawing him close, snaking his arm around Merlin's waist. It did nothing to ease Merlin's dubious concerns, but he tried to tell himself he was over-reacting.

  
“What about that?” Daegal pointed to a three foot long monster which appeared to be a double ended, double knotted dildo called The Double Hitter.

  
Merlin was rendered speechless.

  
Daegal apparently took this as a sign to proceed, and lifted down the long box to inspect the back. “If we got this, we could both have some fun, or, well, you want the one without a knot? I don't like to be knotted normally, except when I'm in heat,” Daegal switched out the current horrible goiter-penis-snake for a different one with only one knot. He settled into reading the back.

  
“I used one of these once with a girlfriend,” he related. “It takes some co-ordination, but it can be a lot of fun.”

  
Merlin could not even begin to construct a mental picture of this, and he was glad of it. Of all the things he should feel, a kind of cold horror was not among them. When had they jumped from casual dating to double ended sex toys?

  
Daegal looked up at him with an expression probably intended to be sexy. “I bet you'd look really good on your knees.” He gestured with the box, and inside the double ended item sort of waggled in that odd, rigid yet lifeless sway.

  
Abruptly, that was the last straw. Merlin stepped out of Daegal's embrace. “Daegal, I'm really not ready for this. I'll wait for you at the car.” Merlin retreated without waiting for a response, hurrying up the stairs.

  
He felt Elliot's eyes on him as he passed the front counter, shrewd and assessing, but Merlin didn't slow. He went straight outside into the November wind and leaned against Daegal's Ford. The cold air felt good on his hot cheeks.

  
He didn't have to wait long until Daegal came out carrying a bag. When he tossed it into the back seat a bottle of Satislick hormone lubricant tumbled out.

  
They were quiet for a few minutes, until Daegal couldn't let it linger any more. “Look, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It just seems like maybe you appreciate a little...forcefulness when it comes to sex.”

  
Maybe he did and maybe he didn't, but Merlin wasn't sure this was sex so much as pushing previously agreed-upon boundaries. Once more he cursed Halloween and that stupid game.

  
“It's fine,” he said, not really wanting to discuss it. It was probably well intentioned, flirtily intentioned.

  
Daegal pressed. “Well, clearly, not. It was just an idea, you know, a way to be intimate by other means. I kind of didn't intend for _you_ to get butthurt.”

  
He was supposed to smile, Merlin knew he should. Just, smile at the thin joke, let it all go.

  
“A heat is a big thing, Daegal. I just don't think we're there,” Merlin said.

  
“Are we not there yet, or do you just not want to? Or think we won't ever be there?”

  
“It's just not something I'm ready for right now,” Merlin said, trying to make his voice even. One minute it seemed Daegal was fine with whatever Merlin could give, and the next he was scheming to get them in bed, and springing it on Merlin in public. Maybe he could forgive a little scheming, but he was tired of people flinging things at him by surprise. Like beds. Enough of that for today.

  
That nagging voice in the back of his head reminded him that if he were a decent, fair person he'd break up with Daegal.

  
Another, insidious voice reminded him that Arthur did buy him a bed, and even if he hadn't meant a thing by it, Morgana, Gwen and Freya were paying such rapt attention to Arthur's behavior Merlin could almost hear them breathing at any given exchange. He questioned the safety of driving alone down that road without his inflatable passenger.

  
It occurred to Merlin as they pulled up at his apartment that he'd forgotten sheets for the stupid new bed. He'd have to go out after Daegal had gone.

  
Daegal walked him up to his front door, neither of them speaking, though the issue still sat between them, heavy.

  
Still, as Merlin dug for his keys, Daegal frowned at the door. “Is … is that music coming from your place?”  
Merlin blinked and frowned. It was.

  
He dug his keys out and popped the lock. Sure enough, when he opened the door, some sultry R &B rolled out into the hall, much louder than anything Merlin would have played, to be considerate of his neighbors.

  
Door open, Merlin reached for his phone, in case he needed to dial 911 in a hurry. Then he ventured into the apartment. Most of the lights were off, except for one of the small reading lamps. The music was coming from someone's phone docked into his laptop, accompanying the writhing of two familiar heads of hair on Merlin's couch. Morgana was on top of Aithusa, both wearing scanty outfits, and kissing deeply.

  
Daegal eyed them from behind Merlin. “Why are there strangers making out on your couch?” he asked.

  
“Well, they're not strangers.” Merlin went to click the music off.

  
When silence roared sudden and true, Morgana's head lifted. “Oh, you're back.”

  
Daegal blinked, then squinted. “Morgana le Fey?” He squeaked in a manner not entirely dissimilar to the way Sophia had uttered it.

  
“Hello. You must be Merlin's boy toy,” Morgana lounged, sprawled atop Aithusa, whose eyes were heavily made up, lips smeared with lipstick and kiss swollen. She looked quite flushed; it was more color than Merlin had ever seen her have.

  
“Daegal Stewart,” Daegal supplied, a little breathless.

  
“I thought you were clubbing,” Merlin said.

  
“We were,” Morgana tousled her hair a little. “Then we wanted to do other things.”

  
“Why are you here – Wait, how did you even get in?”

  
“I'm not in the habit of making time while ceramic cherubs look on,” Morgana leaned down to stroke Aithusa's ear. Aithusa sucked in a breath and wriggled. “So, I borrowed Finna's key to your apartment.”

  
Merlin doubted borrowed was the word.

  
Morgana dipped back in and resumed the moist smacking of a rigorous making out. Merlin grit his teeth, and turned to find Daegal staring at them. Merlin caught him by the arm and tugged him back towards the kitchen.

  
“What is Morgana le Fey doing on your couch?” Daegal hissed, though his eyes were still trained through the open door.

  
“It's complicated.”

  
“No. No no no no no. No. No, see, I'm your boyfriend. It can be complicated for everyone else,” Daegal said.  
“She asked me not to tell anyone,” Merlin said.

  
“I'm not 'anyone',” Daegal shot back, still watching the back of the couch through the doorway, where Morgana's dark head occasionally crested. He finally pulled his gaze from the shenanigans on the couch and peered at Merlin. “She hasn't made a statement to anyone, has she?”

  
Merlin shook his head.

  
“Anyone who could get an interview out of her now, first … that would get them massive coverage.”

  
It was a request. Daegal might not have spelled it out, might not have said 'hey, let me ask your friend if she'll expose herself on tv for the furtherance of my career' but none the less he'd asked, his eyes bright and eager.

  
Merlin firmed his mouth. “I will ask her.” It didn't seem like she was much in a listening mood at the moment. “But if she says no, you can't breathe a word about her being here, Daegal,”

  
“What? Oh. No. No, of course not,” Daegal was staring at the couch again, something predatory in his eyes that made Merlin's stomach squirm.

  
“Hey,” Merlin said, and didn't continue until Daegal met his gaze. “I mean it, Daegal.”

  
“Such a vote of trust,” Daegal said, and rolled his eyes, but his expression bled into something more sincere and agreeable. “Scouts honor, lips are sealed.” He mimed zipping his lips. “You'll ask soon, right? Like, before anyone else...?”

  
“Tomorrow, all right?”

  
“Yeah, sure.” Daegal leaned in and kissed Merlin's cheek. “I'll call you tomorrow, okay? Unless you call me first.”

  
With one last look back, Merlin escorted Daegal to the door, bid him goodbye and locked it after him.

Treading back into his improvised den of iniquity, Merlin averted his eyes to go to the bathroom before he went back out to buy stupid sheets.

  
Except he found his bed neatly made, looking like something out of a catalog. There was a marshmallowy comforter in a dark indigo and sheets of pale powdery blue. There were new pillows too, big plump ones, and little decorative ones that matched the comforter, the kind seen on dummy beds in stores, but that Merlin had always assumed no one ever bought. And here they were, in his apartment.

  
He poked his head out of his bedroom. “Morgana, did you–”

  
“I swear to fuck, Emrys, if you interrupt me one more time I'm going to cut your dick off and ram it up your own hole!” Morgana growled.

  
He was too tired to point out that it was his apartment and his couch. He also needed her in a good mood, else she might not return home to deal with her life, as promised. So, Merlin retreated into the bedroom, got ready for sleep, and slipped between new, freshly washed sheets and tried to ignore the sounds of copulation coming through the wall.

 

  
ᴥ

 

  
 _Excerpt of confidential data from B_ lockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

  
 _Subject: Elsa Arendelle_

  
_Sexugender/Physiogender: malpha_

  
_Orientation: homosexual_

  
_Marital Status: Married, Bonded._

  
_My parents put me on suppressants when I was still a teenager. You're not really supposed to, but gendering proved very difficult for me. I'm very small boned, and developing as alpha was bound to have its developmental discomforts. It was the emotional and instinctive changes that were worse, however. I was not in control. I would fly into these fits, unable to control my alphaness. Then, I attacked my younger sister when she came into my room without permission. It was simple, a territorial defense, but wrong. All wrong. She still has a scar on her forehead._

  
_At that time, suppressants were the best solution the doctors could offer, to draw out the process. I began on heavy doses and would be able to come into myself at a slower pace, theoretically. I could finish developing physically, which in itself was an arduous process. My—ah, my anatomy was undescended for years, though in part the blame lies with the suppressants, which were giving me some emotional equilibrium._

  
_There was counseling, of course, hormone treatments, workshops, meditation, yoga, anything to help me find tranquility. And then, my parents died in a car accident, and any progress I'd made was lost. I was just eighteen, and found myself responsible for my sister, if I didn't want her to go into foster care. We had money, our parents were quite wealthy, but there was still overseeing the estate, and parenting my sister, going to school myself, the death duties..._

  
_Honestly, I came to depend on the suppressants. I hated it when it was time to lower my dose, there were such sharp things to feel, and any time my emotions spiked at all ... well, it ended badly. I know you wouldn't think it to look at me, but I have been taken to court for assault. In time, I just stopped trying to go off them. It was easier, I felt safe._

  
_In the end, I didn't go off them by choice. My sister took it upon herself to switch them with some remarkably similar vitamins, because she'd read something or other about how suppressants taken at a young age could damage full development. I didn't notice. Granted, by this point I rarely left the estate, and I'm afraid I'm a brusque employer to work for. But, I didn't notice, I simply thought it was illness or a bad temper. I was in the stables one day, and there was a femalpha there in the early stages of a rut, and I simply...well, it all came out._

  
_I suppose, on some level, I'd been aware I was different. Underneath all the trouble, all the difficulties, and besides the fact I never had the equilibrium or the availability to think about relationships, when I did consider such matters? It wasn't with omegas. It was with alphas. Not something I was consciously aware of._  
 _I snapped into a brutal rut. I went at the groom. She defended herself adeptly, I'm proud to say. I came back to myself enough to know I had to flee. So, I did. I ran out to the woods the estate abutted. I ran and ran, and honestly, it gets a little fuzzy. I was in rut, and all my alpha senses overwhelmed me, and I was lost for a while._

  
_My sister found me with the help of a sheriff she'd convinced to help her. It took her two weeks to find me. I'd mostly come back to myself, more, even. I felt different. Something about you and the woods. I could be my wild self, and there was no one to hurt, no one to disappoint. It was a vicious way to come into the world, but I think I needed it. I found myself, as impossible as that seems. I've been off the suppressants since. They were invaluable to me, for a period of my life, but I think, equally so, there was a time to stop using them. My sister loved me enough to help me see that._

 

 

ᴥ

 

  
Merlin woke to Morgana shaking him. He started up with a flail that sent most of the stupid pillows tumbling onto the floor.

  
“Morgana?”

  
She was standing at his bedside, but her eyes are on the phone she was holding, rather than him. “Time to get up. We're having brunch at Gwen's while waiting for the arrival of my brother,” she announced.

  
Merlin rubbed his eyes. He frowned when he realized she was holding his phone, and not her own.  
“Um... ”

  
“I'm just texting your boy toy to invite him.”

  
“That's Daegal,” Merlin said, but she left the room without further comment, and Merlin just sat there. For a moment he considered getting really upset about it, and then he decided these people could run their lives in any fashion they wanted. He'd ride their wake, but when push came to shove, he was not going to responsible for any capsizings. Especially not before breakfast.

  
He got in the shower and made an effort to be presentable.

  
Now, instead of just Morgana, he found a tousled Aithusa in his kitchen, sipping coffee. Seeing as he had heard her making guttural cries most of the night, he did not ask her how she was.

  
They took their own cars to Gwen's abode, which was perfumed with the heavenly ambrosia of French toast. Merlin went directly to the kitchen to offer assistance. And partially to hide from Morgana and Aithusa, who sat on the couch and began to neck immediately they arrived.

  
He found Lance already in the kitchen, slicing bread and generally fitting into the assembly line of Gwen's cookery as if he'd been born to it. They flirted in their soft-sweet way, and Merlin found himself needing to flee from that, too.

  
He set the table. It kept him in a zone between the two couples. He tried not to think about being in the same room with Arthur. The memories of him attempting to command and subdue Morgana were still fresh, how he talked about her as if she didn't have a choice, or rights. Honestly, Merlin still wanted to bash his head in for the whole bed thing, really. Only, putting Arthur on the defensive with an attack regarding the bed didn't seem the best way to get him to talk rationally with his sister. Still, Merlin could fantasize.

  
When Daegal arrived, it was Merlin who answered the door. Daegal greeted him with a kiss to the cheek, accepted a mimosa from Gwen, and went to chat with Morgana and Lance.

  
Merlin left him to it and joined Gwen in the kitchen while she worked at the stove, making bacon and French toast.

  
“How did you get roped into this?” he asked her.

  
Gwen smiled. “It was my idea. Kind of.”

  
“Sure it was.”

  
She laughed. “Imperiousness does appear to run in the family, doesn't it?”

  
Merlin shook his head. In a few minutes the first batch of French toast was up, and they gathered at the table. Gwen and Lance switched off manning the stove, keeping an ample supply available to be doused in jam, syrup or powdered sugar.

  
It was when the stove had been turned off, and pounds of bacon were eaten that Daegal turned the topic. “Morgana, I don't mean to pry, but I can't help but wonder why you've declined to satiate the public's ravenous hunger.”

  
“In regards to my cunt?” Morgana asked, a brow cocked.

  
“I...wouldn't put it exactly like that,” Daegal said, his smile just a little ingratiating, so mild that Merlin was certain he was the only one to notice.

  
Aithusa set down her fork to type into a phone, lightning fast. Morgana read it and gave a laugh. “Ai says they probably wouldn't be happy without a spread beaver shot.”

  
“Playstud has probably called already,” Merlin muttered.

  
Gwen curled her fingers around her cup of coffee. “And Playbitch, considering the hoopla is about you pleasing both ends of the spectrum.”

  
Morgana smirked.

  
“But, you are going to make some kind of statement, right?” Daegal asked.

  
Morgana's eyes locked on Daegal. She swept up and down him with the same inspection Merlin been on the receiving end of when first meeting her. She took in Daegal's blue cowl neck sweater and skirt, then his face the fine accents of eyeshadow. Merlin was sure everyone at the table could hear her thinking.

  
In the quiet Aithusa signed something swiftly and covertly at Merlin, but he had no idea, what it was, once his eyes were drawn to her and she'd repeated it. His brow furrowed, and he could only shake his head helplessly. She rolled her eyes and threw him a look that didn't speak well for her assessment of his intelligence.

  
Merlin darted away from trying to read Aithusa's mind when he felt Morgana's gaze alight on him. She stared at him a moment, then her eyes flicked back to Daegal.

  
“You want my interview,” she said. Then glanced at Daegal's feet. “Nice shoes.”

  
Daegal smiled, but it had more cockiness to it. “Thanks. And yes. Exclusive, if I can get it.”

  
“Greedy bitch,” Morgana commented.

  
“I'll get started on the dishes,” Lance said. Then he stood and fled.

  
Gwen watched him go, her mouth quirking. “I...should probably...” She flashed a smile and gathered a few plates to take with her as she followed him.

  
“You'll get a fairer shake from me than a lot of others,” Daegal said as Gwen retreated. “I'm not famous, but I'm pretty good. I don't have some huge sum of money to offer you, but I think dating Merlin speaks to my integrity. Just having you would be scoop enough for a fish my size, so I won't try and pull any bullshit someone on a big network might.”

  
“So, your main selling point is how harmless you are?”

  
“No, it's my lack of ulterior political motive. I don't have scheming producers or sponsors or network executives whispering to slant it this way, or that. I don't belong to the upper echelon power plays. No commercials. No music artist to shoehorn in. Just you, just me. Just talking about what it is to be a theta in this society. You can give a short statement to the press and plug the interview with me to follow. Give it two weeks, then you can make the rounds on all the big shows,” Daegal said. “And, I'm femega. Sure, you could get Larry King or Barbara Walters. They're the best, but, well. Alpha privilege.”

  
“Oprah,” Morgana said.

  
“Beta. Not the same.”

  
“Neither is omega and theta,” Morgana tossed back the remainder of her coffee. “And I'm not the siblings-in-arms comrade kind of girl, doing things for the cause. Just ask the professor there,” Morgana nodded her chin towards Merlin.

  
Daegal glanced at him. All Merlin could do was shrug. No way was he participating in this. In fact, he began to stack dishes, since neither Gwen nor Lance had returned for more, and wasn't it rude for the chefs to also do the washing up?

  
He found Lance and Gwen having a hushed conversation in the corner of the kitchen, farthest from the door. They quieted when he entered with his stack of plates.

  
“Arthur should be here soon,” Lance supplied after a moment.

  
“Joy,” Merlin said. Since neither of them had started the dishes he went to the sink to get the hot water going. He pulled on Gwen's yellow pinafore styled apron, and her rubber gloves with the ruffles on the cuffs. He'd rather look silly than get himself wet. Thus armed, he plugged up the sink, added dish soap and went to work.

  
Gwen smiled at him, amused. “I'll get the rest of the dishes.”

  
Once Gwen had left, Lance went to fetch a dish cloth from the drawer. It dawned on Merlin how happily domestic they were already. It wasn't perfect, even with people as hideously kind and wonderful as Lance and Gwen. Merlin knew Gwen was generous as they came, but even she thought Lance did a little too much pro bono, let himself be taken advantage of occasionally. He knew Gwen's life was full of obligations she was unwilling to let go, and that made fitting Lance into her schedule difficult sometimes.

  
Lance jarred Merlin from his thoughts with a carefully broaching. “Merlin?”

  
Merlin glanced over at him. “Lance?” He squeezed dish soap onto an abrasive pad and shut the water off to begin washing.

  
“Could we talk?” Lance asked.

  
“What's on your mind?” Merlin wasn't sure what Lance could have to discuss with him, but he was curious.  
“It's, well, about Arthur.”

  
Merlin flashed back to the previous week, Lance crowding him in the corner to protect him bodily. “Don't worry, I'm not getting in the middle of them again, I learned my lesson,” he hastened to assure Lance.

  
“No, not that,” Lance said. “I mean, it's good. Arthur isn't usually like that, you know. I haven't seen him alpha out like that since we were in college. He usually has excellent control.”

  
“Well, nothing gets under your skin like family,” Merlin said. Morgana really knew how to push Arthur's buttons. And vice versa. Though, for all the provoking, none of it felt really malicious. While angry at each other, there was a strong sense that they cared, and that made the insults hit home that much more painfully.

  
He was scrubbing plates clean and handing them over to Lance to dry. Lance accepted them, and carefully went about his drying duties. He also, for the lull in their conversation, looked as if he was sitting on something sharp but was too polite to mention it to his host.

  
After a few minutes of that Merlin sighed. “Spit it out, Lance.”

  
Lance gave a pained sort of smile. “It's just, I notice Arthur has been a bit ... particular with you.”  
Merlin only raised his brows. He briefly wondered if he needed to kill Gwen, but no. Her lips were sealed. That meant that Arthur's nearest and dearest were noticing something different. Merlin swallowed and had to gentle his vehement scrub at a patch of syrup.

  
Lance continued. “He's going to be mated this spring, it's almost a foregone conclusion that there's someone waiting for him. So, for Arthur, there's all this natural nesting behavior that goes into it. He's been waiting a long time, like I told you, and I think he's trying to make sure he's the most impressive mate you could ask for. Among other things, he's trying to grow his pack. I know packs aren't in vogue at the moment, and so the recruiting behavior might seem confusing to you...and I know that when I first met you, you were on blockers...”

  
The dishes made muted thunks as silverware clattered against them underwater while Merlin continued to wash almost robotically.

  
“I'm not here to judge, Merlin. I just don't want you to get hurt,” Lance offered softly.

  
“Why would I get hurt?” Merlin asked at once.

  
“When he mates and marries someone.”

  
“Lance. I promise you, I'm not confused and I'm not going to get hurt.” Merlin said, but snapped his jaw shut when Gwen entered carrying glasses, Aithusa behind her with the platter. There were too many open ears already.

  
“Oh,” Lance nodded. “Well. Good.”

  
Did _no one_ notice he was dating Daegal?

  
Merlin didn't even answer that, or else he might be tempted to smack himself.

  
Still, there was a scary question in there about why Lance thought Merlin might be confused.

  
Gwen raised her brows, but didn't pursue it. Instead she set the glasses down and signed a slow careful 'thank you' to Aithusa.

  
“Does Daegal know about Morgana and Arthur?” she asked in a soft voice. “I can't keep track of all these deceptions, and who knows what about whom.”

  
Merlin sent her an alarmed OMFG-what-are-you-doing?! spasm of facial features.

  
Lance, blithe, shook his head. “I don't think so. Merlin?”

  
“Uh, no.”

  
“Does...?” Gwen tilted her head just slightly at Aithusa, the question.

  
Aithusa snorted, she went for her phone, but her eyes caught the little white board magnet attached to the fridge where Gwen made her shopping list. At the bottom she wrote **Subtle, Bitches** , and strode out.

  
“Er, I call it a solid maybe,” Merlin said.

  
Gwen had gone all pink. “You don't think I offended her, do you? Oh, I didn't mean to,” she said sadly.

  
“She reads lips,” Merlin said helpfully.

  
Gwen made a face and scampered out, probably to apologize.

  
“I'll go get the rest of the dishes,” Lance said.

  
He passed Daegal coming in while Lance headed out.

  
“Well?” Merlin asked him, going back to washing out flutes.

  
Daegal held up crossed fingers and grinned. “She's considering it. This could mean a really great boost for me, Merlin. If you get a chance to subtly kind of talk it up, you know? Like, how your interview went? Nothing big, she's cagey, but, you know, a little unf?”

  
“I'll try.”

  
Daegal shook his head. “I still can't believe you know Morgana le Fey!” He lightly bumped Merlin's shoulder with his. “I've got to go, got to get home for the AT&T guy.”

  
Daegal turned. “Hey, Arthur!” he greeted cheerfully.

  
The smell of dish soap and his own preoccupation had obscured the Arthur-smell, but sure enough, when he turned Arthur stood framed in the door, his mouth in a firm line. He wasn't in a suit for once, but wore what were probably designer jeans and a red shirt that made him look positively edible, a leather coat slung over his shoulder.

  
“Hello.” Arthur said to Daegal, very polite.

  
“Just on my way out, good to see you though!” Daegal said. He then leaned in, slid a hand into Merlin's hair so he could get a fistful, and tugged him back to engage in an open-mouthed and quite aggressive kiss. Merlin issued a soft sound of surprise. With Arthur watching he couldn't pull away from the weirdly possessive show, but neither could he just let go. Blessedly, Daegal didn't seem to notice his conundrum, and when they parted he winked. “Bye Babe,”

  
Daegal air kissed Arthur's cheek as he passed. “Bye, Arthur.”

  
Merlin watched Daegal go, lips held together. Then he felt Arthur looking at him, and he dared look up. Their eyes caught a minute, and Merlin was almost certain he blushed.

  
Arthur quirked a brow at the gloves and apron. “Nice look.”

  
Merlin glanced at his hands. “Keep your gender binary codes of behavior to yourself,” he said, probably more snappily then intended to cover his fluster.

  
Arthur held up his hands. “Relax, I'm not here to pick fights with anyone, you or Anna.”

  
“Morgana,” Merlin corrected as he turned back to the sink. He was trying to figure out how to bring up the bed without sounding like an ungrateful shit.

  
“Morgana,” Arthur agreed.

  
“Someone besmirching me?” Morgana entered the kitchen as if she were gliding onstage to adoring applause.  
“Merlin's just correcting me, as our designated counselor,” Arthur said.

  
“ _Su_ ch a lamb,” Morgana smirked.

  
Unseen, Merlin rolled his eyes. “Let me just finish these last cups, then we can–”

  
“No, Professor,” Morgana interrupted. “I think it might be better if my brother and I talk on our own.”

  
Merlin twisted back around. “What?”

  
Morgana smiled fondly at him. “It's not that you aren't helpful, dear, but you do sort of represent an attainable commodity, and Arthur and I don't need anything else to compete over.”

  
He did understand that, after a fashion. People always wanted their couples counselor on 'their' side, as that made them right, and thus made their spouses wrong. There was always the little matter of Arthur thinking he was beta, Morgana almost knowing he was omega, and both of them wanting him to be loyal to one or the other exclusively, rather than the careful tightrope of neutrality he'd been walking thus far.

  
Still. “Are you sure that's wise?” Merlin asked cautiously.

  
“I think we learned our lesson last time, didn't we, brother dear?” Morgana said.

  
Though he nodded, Arthur didn't look strictly comfortable with being addressed that way, but he also looked yards less tense than the last week when he had been brewing with temper and spoiling for a fight. Now he had the stiff look of someone trying to be on zer best behavior and feeling awkward about it. It was sort of cute, really, especially when juxtaposed with Morgana's effusive efforts to appear totally at ease.

  
“I know an alpha counselor I could call,” Merlin suggested. “That might be a better mediator for you two?”

  
“No, no, we've worked out some rules. No teeth, positive statement, etc. So, just carry on being a domestic little lambkin,” Morgana grinned. “Isn't he just adorable, Arthur?”

  
Merlin scowled at her, but she only blew him a kiss and pulled a poker-faced Arthur from the kitchen. Merlin trailed forward to watch them head into the spare bedroom and close the door behind them.

  
Merlin finished the the dishes and moved on to the cooking implements, since it now seemed he had time to fill.

  
When he was done Merlin joined Gwen and Lance in the sitting room. They were curled together on the couch, Gwen's legs slung over Lance's lap. Aithusa had gone.

  
“Anything?” Merlin asked.

  
Lance shook his head.

  
“But, no shouting or sounds of bodies hitting the floor, either,” Gwen said hopefully. “It'd be awful if they gave the guest room murder cooties.”

  
“Did Arthur talk to Uther about all this?” Merlin asked Lance softly.

  
Another head shake from Lance. “I don't think so, he's been in D.C.”

  
Somehow inaction did not seem to be in Arthur's wheelhouse. Then again, it did seem like the kind of conversation that should be had in person, rather than over the phone. 'So dad, did you try and lop off Anna's junk?' didn't have a good ring to it.

  
If he hadn't talked to his father, what had he done? There had been emails, but they were heavy with oblique apologies and questions about Morgana, but light on referencing the ramifications of the entire Surprise!Sister thing.

  
“I think he's talked to Gaius, though,” Lance said.

  
“Gaius?”

  
“He's a sort of friend of the Pendragon family. He took care of Arthur and Anna as the family doctor,” Lance explained.

  
The infamous family doctor. The one that fed Morgana the pills to thwart her theta development. While Merlin couldn't say if the man was complicit in the latter plans for the operation, he certainly had given out medication without his patient's consent. Merlin's opinion of the man was rather low, most particularly when paired with his friendship with Uther.

  
All told, Morgana and Arthur were closeted together for almost an hour and a half. There were only a few instances of raised voices. Even so, they weren't so loud that the words were discernible through the walls, unless one were inclined to press one's ear against the door, but Gwen and Lance were too virtuous to be a party to eavesdropping.

  
Instead, they remained on the couch, chatting amiably, cuddling for the duration. At one point Lance pulled off her socks and played with her toes in absent affection. Gwen was pliant and pleased with the symphony of soft touches.

  
So, maybe Merlin was a little jealous. And not being in the room to mediate was making him a little agitated. After four minutes of bouncing his leg, trying not to think about Morgana and Arthur were up to and watching Gwen and Lance and then wondering why he just couldn't let Daegal fondle bits of him without feeling anxious, he metaphorically threw up his hands and went to get his laptop from the car. He needed a distraction.

  
When he went to check his email, he was surprised to find one in his inbox from Alice Cullen.

**Professor Emrys,**  
 **I'm so sorry I've been MIA, you can probably guess why. I've been with my family, trying to help my brother. He's being held at county mental health facilities pending a trial.**  
 **I know it's asking a lot, but I told his lawyer about the pills. Do you think you could talk to her about it? I would appreciate it. I'll call you tomorrow.**  
 **Alice**

Merlin looked up at the cuddling couple on the couch. “Gwen? Did you ask around about that medication analysis I gave you?”

  
She blinked at him, uncomprehending a moment. “Hmm? Oh! Yes, I talked to Professor Walsh, and a few others, but no one recognizes it. It's not Nuvigil or Modifinil – which is for narcoleptics – in part though, it seems like it is striving to keep the subject awake, but there are a couple of psycho-active agents in it too.”

  
“The THC,” Merlin agreed.

  
“Mmm, there's also a few commonalities with LSD.”

  
“LSD? Let me guess, the psychoactive ones?”

  
Gwen nodded.

  
“Are you … making drugs?” Lance asked with cautious disapproval in his voice, looking between the two of them.

  
Gwen laughed. “No, you're not dating someone with a drug kitchen. I was just checking something out for Merlin. I'm really not a fan of recreation drugs, though I did eat some marijuana brownies in college. Oh, and Merlin and Freya and I got high one very depressing Valentine's day.”

  
Lance looked at Merlin, his brow raised in question.

  
Merlin smiled a little at the memory. “Gwen and I got dumped and Freya lost a gallery showing. Freya confiscated the joint from one of her kids who was so baked he was just going to light up in the middle of class.”

  
Actually, Gwen had been dumped, Merlin had tried and failed to go to bed with this dreamy alpha who ran a used bookstore he could no longer go into, because said alpha had not taken Merlin's freezing up well. The words 'cunt cocktease' had been used, and the whole thing had been so awful, that he'd sworn off attempting sex again. He'd kept to it too, until Gwaine.

  
He remembered the night. Granted, he had only smoked it succumbing to the weight of peer pressure, because that night he didn't want to feel in tune with the world. He wanted it all to go away. They'd passed the joint around Freya's place, drifting, laughing, eating, a little chemical aid making it so that for ten minutes the world didn't totally suck.

  
Merlin was jolted from the memory when the door to the spare room rattled. Arthur and Morgana exited with all the purposeful politeness of people who had not completely settled their differences, but were working on it. Merlin set his laptop aside and rose to check them over, scanning for any signs of violence.

  
“How are you feeling?” he asked them both when there were no bites or bruises to see.

  
“Worried I'd damage him, Professor?” Morgana asked.

  
“I was worried you'd savage his face and he'd rip your hair out, yes.”

  
Morgana laughed. “Well you needn't be.” Morgana draped herself over her brother and patted his chest. “Arthur was a perfect gentleman.”

  
“I don't pull hair,” Arthur told Merlin as if he'd suggested Arthur stole from orphans and peed on national monuments.

  
“Are you both okay?” Gwen asked. She'd removed her legs from Lance and sat forward with concern.

  
Arthur exchanged a look with Morgana. “There are a few outstanding issues, but we've reached an understanding,” Arthur said.

  
“What he means is that we're tabling certain discussions and have ceased hostilities. For now.” Morgana departed Arthur's side and pulled her cigarette case from her purse.

  
Arthur rubbed his forehead with his thumb knuckle. “I need a drink.”

  
“There's some schnapps and vodka in the cabinet,” Gwen volunteered, pointing.

  
“Uh, well, that's very kind, Gwen, but I wouldn't want to invite myself into your alcohol. I'm sure there's a bar somewhere close?” Arthur fielded it carefully.

  
Merlin took that to mean Arthur wanted a drink somewhere else. He smothered a smile.

  
“...I think there's an Applebees?” Gwen offered.

  
“There's a place off Grant, a few blocks from here,” Merlin supplied since he couldn't really imagine Arthur sitting at an Applebees for love nor money.

  
“Great. Lance, Merlin,” Arthur said, gesturing them to follow while he turned, tugging on his jacket.

  
Merlin was saved from putting concerted effort into it by Morgana's interjection, “Excuse me? Who says you get Merlin?”

  
Merlin couldn't help but facepalm.

  
“Well, what's he going to do here with you? Join in the hair braiding?” Arthur said, blinking.

  
“The same thing I presume he'd be doing with you; drinking and listening to bitching.” Morgana said. She was paused by the sliding door to the porch, unlit cigarette in her hand.

  
“I don't bitch.”

  
“Of course you bitch. You bitched for a month after one of the Nannys got rid of your Teenage Mutated Turtle whatever action figures in high school.”

  
“They were mint in the box, she had no right going through my closet. It was an injustice and an invasion of privacy. I was angry and I articulated the reasons why, I did not bitch. And Merlin doesn't want to stay with you; you've invaded his life all week.”

  
As they didn't actually seem all that concerned with what Merlin really did think, he sat back down on the couch and crossed his arms. He was far from diverted by this nonsense.

  
“No more than you, Arthur, I've seen the call list from you on his phone.” Morgana waggled her cigarette at Arthur tauntingly.

  
“We're friends; we talk, unlike some people who don't speak to their families for ten years.”

  
“I've known him longer than you have, you know.”

  
“But not better.”

  
Merlin felt Gwen sit down beside him. She patted his knee while Morgana and Arthur continued to snipe at one another. “Don't worry, children always argue over the new toys, they'll get bored of you eventually.”

  
Merlin rolled his eyes. “Do you think either of them would notice if I just left and went home?”

  
Gwen twitched her mouth, and then tilted her hand back and forth. “50-50. It would depend on one of them 'winning' and going to collect the prize, just to find it had flown the coop.”

  
“Merlin is coming with me for his own good,” Arthur announced with some kind of finality.

  
Morgana gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine, you get him today. We'll have to arrange some equitable custody.”

  
Merlin stood up at that. “I am an adult,” he reminded them, seeing as both had mistaken him for a child with no opinion.

  
He was certain Morgana winked at him as she opened the porch door and stepped out to get her nicotine fix.  
Gwen gave Merlin a worried hand squeeze to which he offered a smile of reassurance before going to collect his own coat.

 

Arthur drove them to a bar Arthur chose from some listing on his phone. It had an appropriately 'hip' name and a lot of blue lights, and, on Saturday afternoon, only two other customers. The waitresses all had chandelier earrings and perky, obliging smiles.

  
The trio was seated in a corner booth as per Arthur's request. It wasn't until their first round arrived that the waitress recognized Arthur, as he'd removed his sunglasses once settled in the dim interior. It was Arthur's turn to be extremely charming and obliging. He took pictures with both the waitresses, signed napkins, and, at their entreaty, called another friend to wish her well, as she was home sick.

  
Merlin nursed his drink and watched the exchange with interest. He recognized the public persona of Arthur Pendragon at once. He'd seen it for years through various media outlets. He'd been just as besotted as everyone else when Arthur had a cameo in a film, or won some online poll. Now he knew Arthur, he could see that the smile had a practiced ease, it wasn't like Arthur's real smile, which was crooked, and crinkled up his eyes. The agreeable charmer demeanor silked over the more arrogant one, but it lacked Arthur's noble heart and blunt honesty. Merlin wanted to peel the false skin off him, and leave him bare and just Arthur, instead of Arthur Pendragon, Uther's son, model, tycoon, playboy, media darling, despite the fact that he'd let that very facsimile woo him throughout his youth.

  
It was strange to think that the dick Merlin had met at Spring Run was more the real Arthur, in the sense that he had not approached Merlin, Gwen or Freya with that false constructed media face. He'd been himself. A cranky self, but himself.

  
Once Arthur had satisfied the waitresses' celebrity cravings, they were both attentive, but also keenly attuned to maintaining Arthur's privacy; when additional customers came, they were seated as far from Arthur's table as possible. They never wanted for refills, but neither did the waitresses loiter, though they did watch from behind the bar, with the unimpressed looking bartender.

  
The three sipped in quiet for a while, letting things settle after the whirlwind of the excited waitstaff, until Arthur slammed the rest of his drink back in one go. He thunked his glass down and frowned at it. “I don't know if I can believe it of my father,” he said, with all the weight of a great confession.

  
Merlin wasn't sure how he felt about people who called their dads 'Father', but considering his own had run off before he was born, he was hardly an expert. Then again, Uther never came off as a font of warmth in any of his public outings. When paired with Morgana's tale of their childhood, however, Merlin got a pretty good picture of little Arthur and Father Uther.

  
He stopped thinking about Arthur's plausibly emotionally distant past and tuned back in time to hear Arthur saying, “...he's not, fuck, he's not Danny Tanner, but he's not a monster, either.”

  
Merlin gave a startled chuckle. “You watch _**Full House**_?”

  
Arthur glared at him.

  
Merlin fought down a smile. “Sorry, just– yeah, never mind. Arthur, dads aren't perfect or even fair. It's entirely possible for you and Morgana to have had two separate experiences under the same roof.”

  
Arthur frowned. “We're not talking different experiences, Merlin, these are allegations of abuse. If the press got hold of it–”

  
“That's not what she wants, Arthur,” Lance reminded him softly.

  
Arthur made a grudging noise of admission, and they quieted when the waitress came by to bring a second round.

  
“He must have had a reason,” Arthur said when she'd gone again.

  
“Are you going to talk to him about it?” Merlin asked. He was a little curious about Uther's version of events, and a little worried that Uther was not going to like being questioned by someone he perceived as a subordinate. Son or not, Arthur was only a demi-grand. Uther was Grand Alpha on High and he always looked a little constipated when attending debates. As if he couldn't believe he had to defend himself against the rabble.

  
Arthur blew out a sigh. “He's in Washington until Thanksgiving. It hardly seems like a holiday conversation, but I suppose it will have to be.” He did not look remotely pleased with that prospect.

  
“Couldn't you just call him?” Merlin asked.

  
“It's best to do these things in person, with my father. It helps to ensure we won't be interrupted,” Arthur explained.

  
“Do you want me to go with you?” Lance offered.

  
“No, you know how he is about audiences with the alpha,” Arthur said, with just the slightest hint of malcontent restrained inside the tones. “Besides, you've got plans with Gwen.”

  
“She's extended an invitation to you, if you– if. Her father will be there, I've convinced Percy to come, since he couldn't on Halloween. Merlin will be there too, won't you?” Lance said.

  
Merlin saluted with his drink. “Gwen, collector of things that need loving homes,” he affirmed, helping Lance along with the subtle topic shift. Not that he didn't want to listen to what kind of prick Uther was, but he had a feeling Arthur didn't need that at the moment.

  
Arthur smiled, took the hook, and soon thereafter began to sing the praises of Dr. Gwen Smith. When he finished his second drink Merlin handed him his own second, as Merlin had not yet finished the first, and there needed to be a designated driver. It was also best not to be drunk and stupid around Arthur.

  
They sat, drinking and talking, moving away from heavier topics. Bits about their careers, jaunts down memory lane, left turns into friendly ribbing and one particularly funny story about the Spring Run where an omega had handcuffed herself to Arthur in the middle of the buffet. Fuzzy padded jaguar print handcuffs. They had to spend a few hours in a manager's office until someone could be found to cut them free, with the omega's chaperone apologizing non-stop.

  
It was nice, casual, though Arthur still had some tender feelings he was clearly trying to bury under drink. They peeped out with one or two statements with gloomy underpinnings, but for the most part he was letting the joviality of their company distract him from the unpleasant future task of asking his father if he'd come near to perpetrating genital mutilation on his illegitimate daughter.

  
Merlin didn't envy him it.

  
Eventually Gwen called Lance. With Arthur's sloppily waved leave, Lance, who had also been going light on the drinks, agreed to let Gwen pick him up so they could finish their weekend together. This apparently included some inspiring film they both wanted to see, now that Morgana had left Gwen's and returned to Finna's.

  
It left him and Arthur alone together, which Merlin told himself was nothing to get fussed over. They were just two guys, having a drink, recovering from being bitch-slapped by family.

  
When Lance had disappeared, Arthur signaled one of the waitresses and ordered a blooming onion. In response to Merlin's look of puzzlement, Arthur said. “Lance has a thing about fried food.”

  
“You're assuming I won't tattle to Lance regarding your dietary indiscretions?” Merlin smiled.

  
“If you haven't noticed, I am the alpha. I have utter authority in my pack. They quake in fear,” Arthur said, but there was his real smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. Merlin was glad to see it, and the sign that while Arthur took his role as alpha and the associated pack responsibilities seriously, he still had a sense of humor about it.

  
“Sure they do,” Merlin said. “They tremble and pee themselves in your mighty presence, like chihuahuas.”

  
“Chihuahuas?” Arthur said, voice dripping with disdain. “Were my pack full of canines, I assure you, they would be dobermans or Alaskan malamutes. Or something,”

  
“No, you've definitely got the whole finicky King of the Chihuahuas thing going,” Merlin insisted. Actually, Arthur was more like a big blond Labrador, but he doubted that would rile Arthur sufficiently.

  
Arthur shot him a look. “Anyone with ears like yours should not be throwing around that accusation.”

  
“See? Congruent chihuahua cranial capacity, since that's about as obvious as it gets.”

  
“Shut up. I just don't like to hear Lance nag, that's all.”

  
“Lance? Nag?” It was a little hard to picture, what with Lance's meltingly brown eyes and his unrelentingly benevolent disposition.

  
“It's very pleasant, well-meaning nagging, but when you know Lance you know when he's scolding. It's like that ... what is it? 'Bless your hearts', right? How, when you say it, it really means you're saying someone is stupid? Like that.” Arthur said.

  
“Lance nags, you bitch, I'm learning all kinds of things today,” Merlin said.

  
“I don't bitch,” Arthur reminded him. “Alphas don't bitch.”

  
Somewhere in there was a comment about bitches bitching, but Merlin satisfied himself by giving Arthur a look, to which Arthur sighed and made a gesture of mixed surrender and apology.

  
When the plate carrying the big flowering deep fried onion came, Arthur groaned his thanks to the waitress, asked for another drink and went to town. He pulled battered wedges off the bloom and dunked them in the dish of dipping sauce. Merlin followed suit to help soak up the alcohol.

  
“You haven't said how you've been sleeping,” Arthur pointed out, after the first flush of gorging between the two of them left the onion half consumed. By this time Merlin closed his eyes, feeling full, relaxed, and perhaps a little pensive about sitting here alone with Arthur. At Arthur's words he opened them back up, and saw a daub of sauce on Arthur's face.

  
Merlin offered his napkin, indicating to Arthur's top lip. “Fine, thank you.” He was not going to get pulled into that discussion with the words of Morgana and Lance still buzzing around in the back of his mind.

  
“Yes, but is it better?” _Than your old one_ lingered at the back of the sentence, unsaid. Arthur accepted the napkin and blotted himself off.

  
“Yes, Arthur, it's great. Thank you very much,” Merlin said, hoping that would be an end to it.

  
No such luck.

  
“I told you I gave good gifts, you didn't believe me,” Arthur said proudly. “In fact, the accusation of gift cards was thrown around.”

  
Merlin leaned back against the booth, but resisted a weird urge to cross his arms. For some reason Arthur's comment pushed Merlin out of his Be Pleasant At All Costs And Do Not Engage zone. “Yeah, isn't my face red? I got a massive bed I didn't pick out, delivered by the unexpected and hassled men to my unprepared apartment, who then took away _my_ bed because some dick on a phone told them to, leaving me with a new bed for which I had no linens, thus necessitating the purchase of all new bed clothes.”

  
“So, what, you want sheets next time, too?”Arthur said.

  
“No! That's what you take from that?”

  
“Then what? It's a top of the line mattress. Are you one of those weirdos that likes their bed stupidly firm? Or are you some sort of masochist that you liked that it gave you back-aches?”

  
The implication of ingratitude in the tone made Merlin throw up his hands in a little flail of exasperation. “Argh! Look, Arthur, in terms of quality and comfort, the bed is great, comfortable, like sleeping in Titania's bower. However, what I don't like is that you bought me a bed without consulting me. Number one, it's a more expensive gift than I feel comfortable accepting—”

  
“It wasn't that much, and it isn't like I haven't got it to spend. I don't see what the big deal is, Gwen's told us she's practically decorated your whole apartment for you because you can't be bothered to pull your head out of all those books you've got littering the floor in there to do it yourself.”

  
“The mattress alone was over six thousand! Six. Thousand. I had no idea they made mattresses thatexpensive. To you it might not be that much, but to me it's a lot of money. That's a few months' rent. My rent costs less than that behemoth of a bed.”

  
“It's a shitty apartment.” Arthur was poking at the dip repeatedly with a wedge of onion.

  
“Not the point.” Fuck, what was the point? Arthur's interruption had gotten him all off track. Merlin frowned. “And don't interrupt me. And whatever Gwen does, that's between Gwen and me, and does not involve you.”

  
“If you hated the stupid thing so much, why did you accept it?” Arthur grumbled. He shoved the onion wedge into the dip and then sat back and crossed his arms, looking a bit sullen.

  
“Arthur, you bought and had a bed delivered to me at ass o'clock in the morning without so much as asking. By the time I'd confirmed they had the right apartment they'd half hauled mine away because you'd made such a fuss that it had to be done in a hurry,” Merlin tried to explain. “I didn't really think of sending it back, I was too flustered.”

  
“Of course I told them it had to be done promptly, they had to be gone in time for you to get ready for your 10:00 class,” Arthur said, the word _duh_ heavily implied.

  
“How did you know that?”

  
Arthur shrugged. “Your schedule is online.”

  
Merlin shook his head. “No, the course listings are online.”

  
“Yes, and if you search for all those taught by M. Emrys, you can extrapolate a schedule,” Arthur said, as if he were explaining this to someone who was slow.

  
“You reverse engineered my schedule for the semester?” Merlin wondered, awed, then remembered he was annoyed. “Because that's not creepy.”

  
“Don't be dramatic, it's public information. It would be creepy if I hacked the college's server,” Arthur said, with a casual air in between bites of onion.

  
“...Can you do that?” Merlin asked, a little buzz of alarm sounding through his chest.

  
Arthur shrugged. “I'm rich. I could pay someone to do practically anything.”

  
It didn't sound flippantly entitled, but rather, like an accepted fact of wealth, as he had come to know it. Still, it reminded Merlin why he was irked, and he realized he'd let himself be distracted.

  
“By the way, buying someone a bed is a little weird, don't you think? You, picking out the place where I sleep? Doesn't that strike you as a little intimate?” Merlin said, and he focused in on Arthur's face for the merest twitch, the faintest sign that Arthur was aware of how this looked. He had to be, he absolutely wasn't a rich eccentric who was oblivious to social norms. He seemed far too aware of how things looked, in most cases.

  
“You said you needed one,” Arthur pointed out, giving no sign that he thought it odd at all.

  
“I did, but that does not mean I expected you to buy me one.”

  
“Yes, I've noted that for the future to avoid any more lectures.”

  
“I'm not lecturing you; I'm just– you don't seem to understand that sending unannounced workmen with an unexpected and expensive gift to someone's home is good old-fashioned rude. And inconsiderate. Not to mention the presumption of just picking out their furniture for them.” Merlin tried to rein in his frustration, tried to explain slowly.

  
Arthur unwound his hands to gesture at Merlin. “So, doing something nice for a friend is rude, have I got that right?”

  
“In this specific scenario? Yes. I might not even have been home, did you think of that? I could have spent the night with Daegal.”

  
“Well, you didn't. You were home, they set up the stupid thing, except now I'll have to call them to come get it back since it's obviously not wanted. Is Monday all right? I wouldn't want to be _inconsiderate_.”

  
Merlin swiftly lost patience for this brand of semi-tipsy obtuseness. Before he thought about it, Merlin grabbed a petal of onion and threw it at Arthur. It hit him in the forehead, even though Merlin was aiming for his chest. It bounced off and tumbled away under the table.

  
Arthur looked shocked.

  
“You threw food at me!”

  
“I did, didn't I?” Merlin said, and he smiled, contented. He took up another wedge and dunked it in the dip. He ate it slowly, watching Arthur, who looked like he was seriously restraining himself from retaliating, but was having to remind himself he was in a restaurant and beyond the age when hurling food was appropriate in any setting, let alone in public.

  
“You can't _do_ that,” Arthur insisted.

  
“Seems like I did. You threw me in a lake, after all.”

  
Arthur grabbed his napkin and began wiping at his forehead, almost as an afterthought.

  
“I just wanted you to be taken care of,” Arthur snapped. “Decent bed, eat properly, all that, and you throw food at me!”

  
“It's not your job to take care of me, Arthur,” Merlin reminded him gently. As well-meaning as it was, there was that presumption again.

  
”It could be,” Arthur's eyes rose up to meet his, strong and bright. “I know you don't do packs, Merlin, I get it, but it's hardly like I'm going to micromanage you, I live miles away.”

  
Truthfully, it stole Merlin's breath a little. Something about the bold and unapologetic conviction that Arthur could care for little lost beta Merlin, that he wanted to, even, and that he would offer it, despite knowing he would probably be rejected.

  
And maybe Arthur was an arrogant dick, but it felt like refusing him a second time, and that stung in a way that frightened Merlin a little.

  
“If it means you buy me a bed whenever you feel like it, no thanks,” Merlin said, tearing his eyes away to look into his water glass. He managed to turn it into a gentle joke, ignoring the funny flutter of emotion.

  
“Don't be an idiot. You have a bed now,” Arthur took a deep breath and then carried on. “Look, Morgana, for all her drama, was right. She never confirmed her pack allegiance when she was of age, and I suppose I just assumed she'd just be with me. The others, it's sort of just happened naturally, them becoming pack.”

  
“Hence the asking?”

  
Arthur nodded.

  
“Did you ask her?”

  
Arthur's jaw flexed and he looked down at the onion. “Apparently Pack Pendragon has not been good for her. She declined.”

  
Merlin imagined the sins of the father lay heavy, but followed the thought not long because Arthur was watching Merlin with a focused alert. Merlin could feel the expectation.

  
“Arthur,” Merlin warned softly. It wasn't as if they hadn't been over this backwards and forwards. He glanced back at Arthur, and found him still intent, fingers a little tight on the tumbler.

  
“You could at least do me the courtesy of thinking it over for a few days. I don't often invite people into my pack, but you and Gwen, you just … feel like you belong.”

  
“Gwen feels like she belongs because she and Lance have recently escaped from some Disney movie where they sing frothy duets with each other.” While Merlin would never think of Gwen's 'On My Own' days as halcyon, they were admittedly less saccharine than the current 'True Love's Kiss' phase.

  
“Don't sell her short, Gwen's great, she's smart, compassionate, loyal, she'd be an asset to any pack,” Arthur said.

  
Merlin quirked a smile. “You'll never convince me you aren't building the perfect pack for some kind of world domination scheme with you as supreme alpha.”

  
“That would be my father. He's my alpha.”

  
Yeah, never in a million years was Merlin going to voluntarily place himself in a hierarchy under Uther.

  
“Yeah, I'm going to have to pass,” Merlin said, as he couldn't very well start railing on Uther.

  
Arthur actually pouted.

  
Merlin tried to be annoyed by it, except it was a little cute.

  
“Fine, I will take a few days to deliberate before refusing you,” Merlin allowed.

  
That made Arthur smile in a contented kind of way. He saluted Merlin with his glass and drained it.

  
Arthur worked his way through one more drink before Merlin decreed the slowly filling bar too much of a risk, and Arthur sufficiently liquored up. Honestly, he probably should have pulled him an hour ago, but he was enjoying the conversation, which ebbed and flowed with a remarkable familiarity and ease. Sometimes they were quiet, poking at the remains of the onion until one of them said something or other with sharp edges of honesty, then they'd fall into commenting, and perhaps some good-natured sniping. Arthur didn't mention joining the pack again, and Merlin didn't bring up Morgana or Uther. Arthur went through several more drinks.

  
By the time they found their way outside late afternoon painted the world in orange light and stretched long shadows across the world. Merlin confiscated Arthur's keys, though Arthur surrendered them with less argument than Merlin was anticipating. Arthur was really quite relaxed, chattering on about the Pendragon Estate, and some refurbishments he'd recently commissioned to the property in anticipation of making it the family home. Merlin tried not to think about how creepy that was. Also, how much he thought Merlin would enjoy the many gardens and the library. Then, as Merlin waited for Arthur to buckle himself in, out came his plans to build a stable to breed horses when he didn't have to be in the city so much, and had whelps he could teach to ride.

  
Merlin did not think about Arthur as a smiling father teaching his perfect little blond children to ride any more than necessary, though it was a congenial image. He'd mentioned having children (or, the horrifically old fashioned 'whelps') a few times, enough for Merlin to know that Arthur wanted them, and not just because he felt he should. He was anticipating being a father.

  
Merlin drove them back to his apartment for a lack of anywhere else to take the slightly drunk Arthur. He wasn't too far gone, so after a nap he might be able to drive home. Or he could sleep it off on Merlin's couch. The latter felt a bit dangerous, but there was little chance Merlin was going to risk Arthur behind the wheel of a car.

  
Once arrived, he guided Arthur upstairs with words and steadying touches. As he unlocked the door though, Arthur half draped over him and snuffed at his neck softly. It betrayed how far down Arthur's barriers were, at the moment.

  
Merlin batted him off and quickly opened up the door. “Here we go,” he said, forcing cheer into his voice.  
In Arthur went, scanning the space, making a circle through the entirety of the apartment, including Merlin's bedroom, which was still in a shambles. He blinked at the unmade bed, then smirked, but he said nothing to Merlin as he came back out. Once finishing his perimeter patrol he headed towards the couch, where he fumbled out of his jacket dropped in a sprawl.

  
“Just let me rest a minute,” he said in a hazy tone.

  
Soon after came snoring.

  
Merlin texted Lance this development, though while he had his phone out he couldn't resist snapping a quick picture of the unconscious Arthur, whose mouth was open just a bit, and whose snores were, so far, soft.

Then he took another one from a low angle, looking right up Arthur's nose, in case he ever needed leverage.  
He next visited the bathroom to carefully reapply his hormones, sprayed on some cologne while he was at it, and then gathered up all the incriminating contents of his medicine chest to go hide in his bedroom closet under some laundry. There. He was prepared in case Arthur got nosy when he eventually visited the facilities.

On impulse he hauled some air freshener out and spritzed around the apartment a bit, just to be sure there wasn't anything to smell when there wasn't something on the stove dominating the apartment's habitual scent landscape.

  
He hosed down the bedroom probably more than was advisable if he didn't want his laundry to smell like orange spice. The bed sat there, its blankets sagging down as if it were having some kind of wardrobe malfunction and all it could muster was a coy giggle. It was a temptress, that bed, with its heavenly softness and structural soundness. A slumberland siren. Damn Arthur for having good taste and picking out a bed Merlin liked.

  
Feeling more secure that all things secret would remain secret, Merlin prepared to shift himself into research mode. He made himself a cup of tea, first, standing in the kitchen while waiting to catch the kettle before it shrieked and woke up Arthur. While the tea steeped he set up his laptop at his dining table once more, and lined up some paper and a pencil, then put his mind to the tasks at hand.

  
First he finished his response to Alice, citing his willingness to communicate what he had learned with the lawyers. That got him considering the mystery pills once more, and that, in turn, dredged up earlier thoughts about murder and suicides on campus.

  
Merlin dug out the pages from Gwaine and the articles he'd clipped from the papers about Edward Cullen and John Mitchel.

  
On impulse he fetched out a cork board from his hall closet, the very one he'd had in college which had maybe once held one or two Arthur pictures. Now he arranged it on one of the dining room chairs to make a visual map.

  
Merlin added four pieces of information to the board. He secured Gwaine's chemical analysis in the center-top of the board. At the center bottom he pinned a paper with Albion U's insignia. The article about Edward he pinned in the upper left corner, in addition to a picture of the Cullen boy clipped from a different day. John Mitchel's he pinned in the lower left.

  
Using some curling ribbon from his meager gift-wrapping supplies, and push pins, Merlin connected Edward to the college, and to the pill analysis. John Mitchel he attached to the college.

  
He began to research while Arthur Pendragon slept on his couch, stirring the air with the ambient noises of his slumber.

  
It was easy to get the list of suicides at Albion U from the past 18 months, those that occurred on campus and off. Gregory Goyle, Asuka Langley Soryu, Boromir Hurin, Miki Sayaka, Erik Ange– the names kept mounting, 25 of them in all, well above the national average of 7.5 per 100,000 students. Albion only enrolled a modest twenty thousand a year.

  
The lion's share were alphas. In fact, an inflated number of alphas. It could have been mere happenstance, but when paired with the two news stories on his board, it didn't feel like it.

  
He started at the top of the list and began to research each one, reading obituaries, Facebook pages, notices of memorial services, anything he could find. From there, he culled some names, and others he added to his board with brief bios.

  
By the time Arthur yawned awake it was after sundown and Merlin had finished his list of suicides, reducing 25 names to 22, after discarding the one omega and two betas. He'd moved on to looking for violent crime on campus and in the dorms. The apartment was dim, since he hadn't bothered to turn on any lights which might disturb his guest.

  
When he heard the faint stirrings from the couch Merlin closed his laptop, sending the room into deeper darkness. He tucked the board out of sight. It wasn't something he wanted to have to explain. He headed to the kitchen, wincing at the bright light when he snapped it on to get Arthur a glass of water and some aspirin.

  
Thus armed, he ventured over to the rousing Arthur.

  
“How you feeling?” he asked in a low voice, and sat on the coffee table to peer down at him.

  
“Urgh.” Arthur jabbed at the sleep clinging to the corners of his eyes.

  
“I bet.” Merlin offered him the water.

  
Arthur shrugged upwards, took the glass, the pills and drank. “What time is it?”

  
“Uh, nineish?” Merlin guessed.

  
Arthur nodded, finished off the water. He set the glass aside then tugged himself to sit upright, his knees bracketing Merlin's in the close quarters.

  
Merlin's heart gave another one of those dangerous flutters. Arthur looked sleep rumpled and sweet. Sexy, too, in that dear manner of intimates. When he ran a hand through his golden hair, it tousled the bed-head even further, spiking up fair locks willy-nilly. He smelled like home, comfort and desire, and he'd undeniably left his scent all over Merlin's couch to tantalize and bedevil him until it faded and he mourned the loss of it.

  
Merlin should get up. He should move away, or else he might succumb to that phantom itch to just curl up next to Arthur and bask in the scent and warmth of him. Or else he might forget the impossibility of it all. Or else he might _let_ himself forget it.

  
“I didn't mean to sleep so long,” Arthur said. His voice was still slightly rough from sleep.

  
“It's fine,” Merlin said around a suddenly dry mouth. When he lifted his gaze he found Arthur looking at him again. The expression on Arthur's face was as intent as it had been in the bar, but there was something new in it now, in the dim. Something fond and just a little bit terrifying. So easy to see now they were less than a foot apart, cloaked in placid solitude.

  
Since he couldn't quite make himself depart, Merlin hastened to find something to say and blurted, “It's a crappy couch, sorry. You could've tried the new bed, made sure you got your money's worth.” Then he winced, the implications of such an incautious comment bubbling across his hind brain.

  
The corners of Arthur's mouth tilted up just slightly. “Are you inviting me into your bed, Merlin?” The question draped playfulness like plausible deniability over a core of timid sincerity.

  
When had Arthur gotten so close? Merlin swallowed, shook his head, “N-no, I –”

  
“Pity.”

  
Arthur's nose bumped against the side of his, casting Merlin into a breathless, immobile silence, which could only be broken by one word in all the world.

  
“Arthur...” It came out entranced and covetous.

  
There a pause, a moment where Merlin could feel Arthur's breath against his cheek, could feel the hesitation in the body across from his. In that brief window he knew he should pull back, pull away, but then he felt Arthur's resolve in the form of Arthur's fingers curling around his face. His thumbs swept along Merlin's cheekbones, his pinky and ring fingers soothing behind the warm corners of Merlin's jaw.

  
Arthur tilted in and pressed their mouths together.

  
It was a very soft, tentative kiss. A gentle laying of lips, no more than a fluttering question, at first. The initial moments of hesitant contact stretched so Merlin fancied he felt each slight shift of Arthur's lips on his. His mind raced, heart clutched, and he shouldn't, oh shouldn't–

  
Then something shuddered and gave way between them. In a heart-beat the careful tenderness evaporated and they were kissing with a vigorous greed. With Merlin close, Arthur licked the seam of his mouth until Merlin happily gave in and opened for him, let Arthur take his mouth in any fashion he pleased. Merlin was gripping Arthur's waist, fingers crooked in the silky red shirt. Arthur's hands kept his head tilted just so, kept him posed to reap the hot-mouthed reward of long simmering attraction, until they dropped down and dragged Merlin across the empty space and onto Arthur's lap.

  
Merlin made bold to straddle him, for the barrage of ardent kisses fed the banked flames deep inside him, inspirited them to blaze until they rose up and burned away the restraints that kept their ravenous hunger fettered. Arthur was cupping him with a gentle firmness, one hand at the base of Merlin's spine, the other at the back of his neck, fingertips dipping into his hair. Maybe Merlin moaned, he wasn't sure.

  
It was so _good_. All Merlin could smell was the saltmusk-leather-cardamom unique to Arthur, every breath a rich, raw reminder of his irrefutable presence. For the first time in his life, it was the right smell. The smell that made his body rejoice, that galvanized the flames inside him to incinerate everything within Merlin that would deny him this. All that logic would deny him Arthur, all the reasons he should stop this at once. Arthur didn't need to conquer Merlin's mouth with hot deeds; Merlin gave it willingly.

  
The next thing he was really aware of was having to tear their mouths apart for the need of air. It was then Merlin realized he was on top of a panting and slightly shocked looking Arthur, that he was crackling with arousal. In moments he'd be wet with want, and that realization dampened some of the heat.

  
“I–” Merlin got out, the need to express something getting out before he knew just what he was going to say.

  
Arthur looked tousled and sensual. On impulse, Merlin ran his fingers over the luxuriant parted lips. Yet, as Merlin watched, the wonder and ardor leeched from Arthur's expression slowly. They were replace with resolve and sadness.

  
“I can't do this,” Arthur said, regretful but decided.

  
Almost as suddenly as he had come to be there, Merlin found himself hastily but carefully shifted off Arthur's lap onto the couch beside him.

  
Though Merlin had just been about to voice a similar need for cessation, Arthur's words sliced into his chest, none the less. He was set aside, Arthur's hands sailing briefly over his arms in a lingering caress after placing him, then retracted.

  
“I'm sorry, I can't, it's … it's not right. I'm going to be mated in spring, this is disloyal. I shouldn't be doing this, I shouldn't...” he cupped Merlin's cheek again, eyes roving over Merlin's face, catching on his mouth, which must have been kiss red. Merlin licked his lips reflexively.

  
For a second it looked as if Arthur would lean in and kiss him again. There was a faint tilt inward, a yearning ... then abruptly Arthur thrust himself away.

  
He pushed himself to his feet. “I'm sorry– Christ, I'm– I've got to–”

  
One last look at Merlin and Arthur fled the apartment.

  
Merlin remained frozen on the couch, the sound of the door closing echoing in his ears.

  
He knew it was good, for the best. In a minute or so his slick would have made the whole thing worse. Of all the potential ways there were for Arthur to discover him, getting wet while straddling his lap was one of the more dreadful. And stupidest.

  
“Fuck,” Merlin muttered, and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

  
It was all so stupid. Arthur's yawning absence lent the clarity for Merlin to see how abundantly ill-advised the last five minutes or so had been. Or, really, the last few months. How had he gotten this deep? It was only supposed to have been two days! The duration of Spring Run, and then he should have been free to return home and resume his life. He hadn't signed up for a life-time of deception.

  
Merlin stirred himself from the couch. The low heat in his groin was loosening and dispersing as the full weight of what a mess this was came down on his head. He felt disgusted with himself, and this weakness … and a little afraid that he might actually like the stupid alpha.

  
He retreated to his bedroom, away from Arthur's smell cloaking the couch … and to the bed. Another reminder of Arthur. He hadn't meant to imply an invitation into bed.

  
He threw off his clothes and pulled on his pajamas, then crawled under the blankets and pulled them up over his head.

  
“You're smarter than this,” he reminded himself under the warm tent. He was also too mature to be behaving like a crushing teenager, except that was more or less that he felt like. He was supposed to have moved out of this phase ten years ago, and yet here it was.

  
These thoughts and more he mulled over, not even rousing when his phone went off in the other room. Whatever new crisis someone had developed they could handle it on their own for once. He was in no position to deal with anyone's problems except his own.

  
That changed when there came a knock at his door a bit later. Merlin sighed and dragged himself out to answer it. Perhaps there was a tentative hope that Arthur had returned (Bad Merlin! Stop hoping that!), but when he went to the peephole it was Daegal, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  
Daegal swept in when the door opened and planted an excited kiss on Merlin.

  
“She said yes!” Daegal announced when their lips parted, and hugged Merlin.

  
“Morgana? The interview?” Merlin asked. “She said yes?”

  
“Yes!”

  
“That was … fast,” Merlin hadn't even had time to talk Daegal up. Daegal had only made the offer this morning. It seemed extraordinarily swift for someone who'd been dragging her heels about the issue for over a week now.

  
Merlin trailed after Daegal as Daegal headed deeper into the apartment.

  
“It was. She called and said she wanted to discuss it with me tomorrow, that I'd made some points and it would look good to come clean in a slightly unorthodox way,” Daegal said, headed for the liquor cabinet.

  
“None for me,” Merlin said.

  
“Come on, Merlin, we need to celebrate!” Daegal got down two tumblers.

  
“Not for me,” Merlin repeated, stubborn. He strode over and returned one of the glasses to the shelf from which it had come. Daegal glanced at him and sighed, but added ice, poured himself a drink and held it aloft.

  
“Well, here's to Morgana le Fey, and one hell of a coup!” He toasted, then drank.

  
“Congratulations!” Merlin injected as much enthusiasm as could be had into the words. He was happy for Daegal, it was a golden opportunity. Being the host who convinced Morgana to break her silence would get him lots of exposure, and Merlin did want to celebrate the success; just not with alcohol.

  
Daegal headed into the living room and plopped onto the couch. “Whew, Arthur,” he said brushing a knuckle over his nose as he got comfortable.

  
Merlin slipped into one of the chairs and drew his legs up. “You'll be interviewing her soon?”

  
“This week, so we can air next Sunday in the fancy time slot,” Daegal reported. He patted one of the pillows. “Arthur was here?”

  
Merlin nodded, “Yeah. He, Lance and I went for a drink. He had a bit much; I brought him back to sleep it off.”

  
“Maybe I can get him, after Morgana. She ought to put me on the map enough that he'll at least consider me,”

Daegal said thoughtfully. “I want to talk to him about the work with drones one of his companies does.”

  
Merlin didn't have the heart to tell him that scoring Morgana actually made getting Arthur less likely. The association would be a little too close to home. Instead he made a noncommittal, if hopeful, noise of assent.

  
Daegal regarded him for a long moment over the rim of his glass before he asked, “What's up with you?”

  
“Nothing. Just tired.”

  
“No, it's something. You're all off.”

  
“Keeping up with Arthur and Morgana and all of it just makes me tired,” Merlin opted for saying. It was true.

  
“If you say so.” Daegal sounded rather unconvinced, but he fell into quiet without further interrogation, sipping his drink. When he finished he carried the glass back to the kitchen.

  
“Mind if I spend the night here?” he called. “No funny business, promise,” he promised, coming back out, a flirty smile in place.

  
“Let me just tidy,” Merlin rose and headed for the bedroom. Maybe sleeping with a warm body instead of curling up alone in the giant bed would soothe the misty ache that lingered. And the guilt he felt while doing it would be an apt punishment for his assorted mistakes and shortcomings.

  
“It's fine, I know it's a mess,” Daegal said, amusement threading his tones. “You should get someone in. My place would look like yours, except I have a service come in and clean.”

  
Daegal trailed after Merlin.

  
“I don't want strangers in my place.” Merlin scooped up a handful of clothes and dumped them in the largely empty laundry basket. He should wash his clothes tomorrow, it was time. Put his room back together. He shuffled to the bed and cast off the assorted decorative pillows he'd wedged against the wall the previous night, tossing them into a corner to make plenty of room for two people.

  
When he turned he found Daegal standing in the doorway, staring at the bed.

  
“Merlin?” He asked, “You replaced your bed?”

  
“Huh? Oh. No. Well, yes, but, Arthur –”

  
“Arthur?” Daegal repeated.

  
“Yes. He surprised me with it the other morning.” And it had been a bone of contention ever since.

  
“Arthur surprised you with a bed.”

  
Merlin could hear the tone lurking around in the back of Daegal's words. “There was this argument last week, and he alphaed out and then he felt bad,” Merlin elaborated.

  
“He felt bad so, instead of just saying sorry, he bought you a giant bed, presumably to replace the shitty one you already had and he somehow knew about.” Daegal repeated, and there it was again, unhappy innuendo.

  
Merlin sighed and rubbed his eyes. “It's not how you're making it sound.” Or … it hadn't been? Hell, he couldn't tell any more. Maybe it had been an allusion to other things, but Merlin would hardly call their friendship leading up to this flirting, so maybe the bed was a subconscious thing? What was Arthur thinking? It was all a mess of what Arthur knew, why Arthur did what he did because of what he knew, and all the things he didn't know and might be reacting to subconsciously and already, this was too confusing for even Merlin to tackle. Arthur's mouth on his suddenly sent months of conclusions spinning out the window. Were Arthur's motivations for other behaviors altered? Was it all a mistake? Had Merlin somehow made it happen?

  
“Well, how should I make it sound?” Daegal had his arms crossed in front of him now.

  
“Take a page from my book; frustration at privileged if well-intentioned over-exuberance,” Merlin suggested.  
“So, what, Arthur just came in and forced a bed on you?” Daegal said. His arms tightened.

  
“The delivery guys took my old one away, it was either take the new one or sleep on the floor,” Merlin turned to clear away the rest of the stupid fancy pillows Morgana had bought.

  
“Here's a wild idea, you don't let them inside your apartment to take or bring anything.” Daegal's volume had risen.

  
Merlin slung the last bolster into the corner. It tumbled and rolled back, so Merlin kicked it under the bed to be done with the task before he turned to face Daegal. “Daegal. What is this?”

  
Daegal didn't answer right away. He was still unmoved from the threshold and glared at the bed as if it had personally affronted him. For a long moment he just stared at it, jaw fixed. His mouth quirked, and then he finally turned to look at Merlin. Again, he took a breadth of time to look Merlin over before he shook his head sadly.“I thought I could deal with it,” he said. “I thought we could work around it, because it wasn't really anything. I thought it was all in your head and that was fine, we could work with it, but we can't, can we? We can't, especially not if he– and if he's just going to– I mean, a _bed_?”

  
Merlin swallowed, seeing at once fervor and hurt. He felt a blow of guilt at the deeper injury the fractured words hinted at. “It's just furniture, Daegal, I can get rid of it if it bothers you.” he said. And he would. He liked the bed, despite the mess it had brought, but it wasn't worth hurting someone over.

  
“It's not just furniture, Merlin. And you know that.”

  
Did he? Merlin was struggling to sort all the events of the day, and he wasn't sure what he knew anymore, let alone what Arthur knew. He'd been avoiding and cutting off this thing with Arthur, and still it flourished despite how much he discouraged it.

  
And why did all of this have to come out and hurt Daegal? Merlin honestly hadn't intended that to happen, only he was in so deep now he didn't know how to get out, short of moving to the desert and becoming a hermit.

  
“It's not just the bed, it's the whole thing with you and Arthur,” Daegal said.

  
“There isn't a thing with Arthur and I.” The words came out thick and brittle, but it was the truth.

  
Daegal shot him a disbelieving look, one with little patience. “Please.” His voice dripped with cutting reproach. He finally entered the room proper to stalk to the dresser. He went directly to the bottom drawer, and, Merlin was horrified to see, pulled out the plastic bag with Arthur's jacket from the very bottom, where it had lain hidden under long johns, swimming trunks and all other clothing Merlin rarely used.

  
“Then what about this?” he waggled the bag at Merlin. The plastic crunched accusingly as the bag swayed. Then he hurled it onto the bed with such force the mattress jumped.

  
Merlin swallowed. “How did you–” Had Daegal rifled his drawers? That made bits of Merlin grow cold. Perhaps he should not have had secrets for Daegal to find, but it was a human's right to have and divulge secrets at their own pace. Not to have their things looted through.

  
“Not the fucking point. Look, I could deal with it when it was some one-sided hormonal thing, and Arthur wasn't going to give you the time of day, I could deal with it because you went home with me, and yeah, some omegas, they need that alpha crap. You needed it– Oh, don't give me that look, you need it, and I let it slide, hell, I would have worked with it. At Gwen's, on Halloween, I thought if I was just a little more dominating, a little more alpha, then we could have made it work. If you had been honest with me we could have figured out a way to work, but it's not just alpha, is it? It's him.”

  
Merlin wanted to curl into himself, but didn't. It was, really, righteous anger. “There is nothing with Arthur,”he repeated. Guilt snapped up from deep within. Technically it was true, he didn't have any kind of relationship with Arthur. He had a few reality-altering illicit smooches less than an hour old. Considering Arthur's expression before he fled the premises, and Merlin's own horror at his complete lapse in self control, it was not something either party intended on repeating. Still, Daegal knew, and Merlin suddenly felt like the scum built up around a septic tank.

  
“I'm well aware you aren't dating or screwing or whatever, but the fact that he seems cool with buying you the furniture you fuck yourself on and you're cool with letting him? That's not something I'm okay with.” As he said it, Daegal shot a significant look towards the bottom drawer of the night stand.

  
Merlin sucked in a breath, the blow striking true and hard, as well as the realization Daegal had unearthed his small collection of autoerotic aides as well.

  
“And you won't fuck me at all,” Daegal reminded him.

  
That, however, jerked Merlin out of the sinking pit of guilt. “Yes, I have things to use while heated, do I need to apologize for that? I'm not having sex with anyone, not just you. I told you that I didn't have a lot to offer there. You said it was fine.”

  
“It was, until, dammit, Merlin, a bed!” Daegal made a sweeping gesture over the item of furniture in debate. “Clearly the alpha thinks he has some permission to meddle in the most intimate parts of your life. He's not your alpha, you're not his pack, but you're prepared to let him. And hide his scent away like some fucking drug habit you know you should be ashamed of. This is not casual friendship. I don't know what this is. Sad and...” Some of the anger abruptly went out of Daegal as he spoke the words, trailing off, unable to come up with another adjective to describe Merlin's particular situation which he'd dragged into the open.

  
Some of it rankled, though, and Merlin shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I was clear with you, Daegal, I told you what I was willing to do. That wasn't code to change yourself into something you thought I wanted you to be. Whatever I might do with myself is my business, and I'm under no obligation to share it.”

  
He turned to look at Merlin, trying to mask hurt. “Do you think I want to be dating someone who settles for me but won't share himself and dreams of someone else while he touches himself? You think I'm worth so little?”

  
Merlin stiffened. “What? God, no Daegal, I really wanted to go out with you, you're funny and smart and interesting, I liked you! But whatever I might fantasize about while I masturbate is my own business, and it could be tree frogs for all you know.”'

  
“Yeah, that's why you stole Arthur's jacket.”

  
“But I chose to spend my time with you,” Merlin pointed out. Whatever he might have been avoiding, he did like Daegal. Had enjoyed spending time with him. He wasn't just a beard. Even if Merlin had never met Arthur, he wouldn't be able to offer Daegal any more than he was now. Probably, it would have been less, actually.

  
“But you didn't _like_ -like me, and maybe I kind of knew it, and was going to let it go.” He threw out a hand toward the jacket and the bed. “But this, too? This I can't deal with.”

  
“You shouldn't have to,” Merlin said, soft.

  
“Damn straight.”

  
Merlin looked down.

  
Silence yawned an empty space between them, but words seemed too ill fit it.

  
“I'm so sor–” Merlin started to say.

  
“Don't,” Daegal cut him off, held up a hand. “I really don't want to hear it now.”

  
Merlin closed his mouth. Swallowed dryly and nodded.

  
Daegal glanced at the bed one last time, then turned his back on it. “I'm gonna go.”

  
He left the bedroom at a swift stalk. Merlin tripped along behind him. “Are we...?”

  
“I don't want to talk, Merlin. Maybe we'll talk later, maybe not, I don't know.” Daegal grabbed his coat from where he'd tossed it and pulled it on. “But I need to go and just cool down, because this? God dammit, Merlin, this? I just can't, right now.”  
Daegal gave him one last long look before he departed.

 

ᴥ

 

  
 _Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

  
 _Subject: Elphaba Thropp_

  
_Sexugender/Physiogender: momega_

  
_Orientation: Bisexual_

  
_Marital Status: Platonically bonded, unmarried._

  
_My father was very religious. He had certain thoughts about omegas, and omega behavior. Old fashioned, sexist thoughts. I didn't fully realize it until I got a full scholarship to Yale to study law. Until I was out in the world, seeing things._

  
_I was on suppressants for a number of years. I began them at the behest of my father, once I fully gendered, as a way to control some of the more unbridled aspects of the omega sexuality. I was on Nulzine for much of my late teens and early twenties, which of course eliminates heats entirely._

  
_I don't mean to imply that I was either abused or taught something patently incorrect; my father was certainly dogmatic, but his beliefs are not terribly different than most people he shares a religion with. Perhaps he was more stringent with me than he was my sister, who is a beta._

  
_Going to college helped me learn a great deal about myself and the world. I did determine very soon in my second semester that I would discontinue their use, when the time was right. I remained on suppressants through my years of study, as I did not wish to be distracted by the inevitable onslaught of newly freed biology._

  
_I didn't keep it a secret, however. At first I didn't refer to it, but then, I was a rather strange and socially awkward girl who had no one to tell._

  
_I met my bondmate, G, in college, in fact, we were roommates. At first we loathed one another, but in time we became friends, and then best friends, and then … Well, she has changed me for the better. Because I knew her, I have become the person I am, a person who is unlimited._

  
_It was after knowing her, and growing and being changed that I became much more active in assorted causes and communities. I was open with my omega status and my omega bondmate. When I eventually went off the suppressants she was there to help me regain that part of myself, to relearn what it was to be an omega._

 

ᴥ

 

  
Sunday was unrelentingly quiet. His phone was quiet, his email static. Merlin tried to distract himself with study, with paperwork. In the end he was completely unable to be academically constructive, so he assigned himself punitive apartment cleaning. He did not go near the couch and its lingering smell.

  
He was absurdly glad when the distraction of work came. His apartment glistened with a cleanliness he wasn't sure it had known since his mother had come to visit years ago. So what if all the books didn't fit on the shelves? They were all stacked tidily, alphabetically by author.

  
His Monday lectures were more vehement than usual. Alice was back, subdued and sad, but more efficient than before. He avoided lunch with Gwen, Freya and Gwaine by working with her in one of the lecture halls, since there was catching up to do, and Merlin, frankly, didn't feel like being sociable, though he had sent Arthur a text, letting him know it was okay, it was no big deal. He got no answer.

  
He went to Kilgarrah's directly after his last class and worked in the basement until ten. Then he trudged home and worked on his Pill Pinboard until midnight. Then he stared at the unsent anonymous letter to Arthur in the drafts folder of his email, and argued with himself about sending it. He should send it; he owed Arthur that honesty, despite his lapse in abstaining. On the other hand, would it be like driving Arthur back into his own arms? And how messed up was that?

  
He didn't send it. He ignored the couch. He cursed the bed.

  
Tuesday he skipped lunch again, but this time to get some data from campus police about reported assaults. Myror gave him a bit of a run-around, but released some figures to him.

  
That night Merlin stared at the email again, until he finally caved and lay on the couch and inhaled the stale Arthur smell, and deliberated which bottom level of pathetic he'd sunk to.

  
On Wednesday Merlin met Alice at the office of Michonne Gurira.

  
Edward Cullen's lawyer was a severe looking woman, masked by blockers. Her double-breasted brown suit and blue striped tie were impeccably neat, down to the ironed crease of her trousers, as were the multitude of braids pulled back into a bun. She surveyed Merlin solemnly over her desk, but then, she had the best poker face Merlin had ever seen. He hadn't detected one emotion from the stoic expression, through her eyes were sharp and alert.

  
“And you believe this medication may somehow have prompted Mr. Cullen to act?” Mrs. Gurira asked.

  
“It's a possibility. A chemist colleague of mine has examined the chemical breakdown of the tablets found in Edward's room. It's not a known substance, but it's been extrapolated that it may have some psychoactive properties. It needs to be analyzed by a proper pharmacist,” Merlin affirmed.

  
Mrs. Guiria shuffled the copy Merlin had given her of Gwaine's chemical analysis, then she set it down and laid her hands over it. “Mr. Cullen was tested for illegal substances at the time of his arrest. His results were negative for drug use.”

  
“Yeah, but I'm not sure that this would show up in the standard tests, since I don't even know what this is,” Merlin pointed out.

  
“If it has the properties you claim, it seems reasonable it would,” Mrs. Gurira said.

  
“There's really no telling, with the identity and the purpose of the drug unknown,” Merlin said.

  
“Please, I know it seems odd, but Edward has been strange for a few months now, and maybe this could explain it?” Alice offered. She'd been mostly quiet in the black leather chair beside Merlin, but now pressed her lips together worriedly.

  
Mrs. Gurira glanced down at the pages once again, then stood and picked them up. “I know you're worried about your brother, Ms. Cullen, but you must rely on my expertise to help Edward through this. Your father hired me because I have an exemplary record.”

  
Mrs. Gurira turned her attention to Merlin. “Thank you for taking the time to bring this to my attention, but I do not think the information would be of any help in Mr. Cullen's trial.”

  
“But, it has to, it explains why Edward would do this,” Alice said, agitation swirling under the usually serene tones.

  
“I am not at liberty to discuss the legal counsel I have given your brother, Ms. Cullen, but this development cannot be verified by any other persons as nothing untoward was found in his dorm, you alone have handled potential evidence, there is no way to prove Mr. Cullen was using this unknown substance at the time, nor what the effect would be if he had, and he himself has not spoken of it. It would be inadvisable to present such information to a jury. Your brother has much better chances of a diminished sentence using a different defense,” Mrs. Gurira said.

  
Alice visibly wilted under the weight of the words, her eyes cast down.

  
Mrs Gurira turned back to Merlin and returned the stapled pages to him. “I suggest you report your suspicions to the police as a concerned citizen and let them make the necessary inquiries.”

  
She turned and returned to her desk, clearly done with them. Defending a crazy kid was probably easier than an addict. More sympathy, at least. Merlin stood, thanked her for her time and obliged her unspoken dismissal.

  
In the parking lot Alice shook her head. “I've asked Edward over and over where they came from. I don't know if he won't say, or...” She gave a helpless kind of shrug, letting all the other options float between them, unsaid.

  
“She said nothing untoward was found in his dorm,” Merlin said, chewing on the inside of his lip. “They didn't find the rest of the bottle?”

  
Alice shook her head. “It was gone. I went to look too, after. Maybe Edward took it with him?”

  
Merlin leaned up against his car and turned that over in his mind. “Maybe...”

  
“I could ask again.”

  
“We don't want to agitate him,” Merlin said.

  
“It's important, Professor. Whatever they were, they changed him. I don't care what anyone says.” Alice's hand fisted around her keys, a strangely vitriolic motion.

  
Merlin groped for his own keys. “Ask him why,” he said slowly. “If he won't say where he got them, try to find out why, what they were doing for him, ah, ask after feelings, not facts, but not like an interrogation, just have a conversation with him.”

  
Alice frowned. “He'll know. He always knows what people are thinking.”

  
“He might, but he's more likely to let something slip to you, rather than the cops or her.” Merlin ticked his head back toward the building.

  
Alice considered, then nodded. “It might take some time.”

  
Seeing as Edward Cullen was currently their only lead, beggars couldn't be choosers.

  
He sent Alice home and climbed into his own car to set course for the police station.

 

Detective Bertrand was about as excited about Merlin's information as Mrs. Gurira had been. He listened to Merlin's tale, his collected data about the crimes he had tracked, took down some of the details and made a copy of the chemical analysis. He also kept glancing to his sandwich, which sat on his desk where he had been forced to place it to deal with Merlin.

  
“But, you ain't seen it before or since?” Bertrand asked, a little by rote.

  
“No,” Merlin resisted grinding his teeth. “But I also don't make a habit of searching the dorm rooms.”

  
Bertrand raised a brow. “Have you reported this to campus security?”

  
“Campus security does not investigate narcotics,” Merlin retorted.

  
“According to you, this pill isn't a narcotic, though, is it? Or else this Cullen kid would have tested positive when they brought him in,” Bertrand pointed out, as if it were some significant victory.

  
“Yes, fine, campus security doesn't do vice, is that better?” Merlin had run out of patience and the snippy tone made Detective Bertrand's expression darken.

  
“All you've got is a student's hearsay that another student – her brother, and a smart pre-med alpha – had possession of these pills. You said they make you stay awake? Maybe the kid mixed 'em up to help himself go to class during the day and stalk that omega at night.”

  
Merlin reined his temper in to say as nicely as possible, “Ms. Cullen says whatever they were, they were not found in his dorm, the family cabin or on his person at the time of his arrest, now doesn't that seem a little odd?

  
“Yeah, but so's that Lady Gaga. Maybe he lost them somewhere. Look, Professor, I'll make out a report, but, bottom line? Until we've got some kind of proof someone's got or is distributing a controlled substance, there isn't a crime here. What you got is a lot of unrelated attacks and suicides and nuthin' to tie 'em together. Hopped up or not, that Cullen kid is going down awhile.”

  
Merlin wanted to throttle the man. He was completely neglecting the delicate web Merlin had been piecing together bit by bit. “How do you explain this upsurge in alpha violence, then? The alpha suicide rate alone should raise a few red flags.”

  
Bertrand shrugged. “I don't. People are fucked up, it's the way the world is.”

  
“I have the remainder of the pill, isn't that proof of something?”

  
“Yeah, I am gonna need you to surrender that,” Bertrand said. “For tests.”

  
Merlin left the station with even more discontent than the surplus in his possession when he entered with. He'd agreed to drop off the remainder of the pill, but Merlin was under no illusions. In all likelihood it would languish in an evidence box, forgotten until an alpha turned up with a collection of severed heads and identical pills glued all over zer body.

  
He'd been given the brush off. It matched the shambles of his personal life quite well, really.

  
He climbed into his car and then whacked his head against the steering wheel, which seemed to be about as productive as anything else he was doing, and had the same result.

  
He'd just turned the car over when his phone rang. Gwaine.

  
“Hello.”

  
“There y'are, Emrys,” came Gwaine's cheerful brogue.

  
“Here I am,” Merlin agreed a little sadly.

  
“Don't give me that now, seeing as I've nominated myself to sort you out.”

  
“I'm not really in the mood to go drinking, Gwaine.”

  
“I wasn't thinking you were. Come by my flat.”

  
“That's nice, but I don't need to get laid, either.” Maybe that one was up for grabs, but it wasn't a talk he was having with Gwaine.

  
“Jaysus, is that all you think I'm good for? Sex and alcohol?” Incredulous, but there was laughter hiding in there too.

  
“...Is this a trick question?”

  
“Ha, bloody ha, Emrys. Now, if you're not here in twenty minutes I'll come fetch you, and it won't trouble me to carry you off campus.”

  
Merlin drove to Gwaine's, as he had no desire to be visited upon by whatever kind of vengeance Gwaine could devise if Merlin were to thwart him. It was easier to capitulate, and free himself from the future worry that Gwaine would interrupt a lecture and carry Merlin out. That was not a photo Merlin wanted appearing on Facebook.

  
He'd been back to Gwaine's a few times since the failed attempt at the coital tango, and each time it looked much homier than the time before. Sure, there were always a few beer bottles and take-out containers strewn about, but overall it was much more personable than Merlin's apartment. Lots of cushy furniture designed for lolling characterized the spaces, and everything had its own knitted afghan, since Gwaine's mother seemed to think he suffered from a deficiency of blankets. There was a big, framed and autographed picture of some soccer team on the wall, and other sport memorabilia, as well as smaller framed shots of family. Some kind of flag hung above his couch, which was positioned to face a big tv with several game systems clustered at the base. On the shelves were chemistry books mixed in with Playstuds, travel books and comics, an entire corner was devoted to home brewing, and various sports equipment was strewn about the floor, presumably dropped after their last use.

  
Gwaine met him at the door and let him in with a brightly offered, “Beer?”

  
Merlin declined.

  
“Right then, onto it.” Gwaine tugged at the collar of Merlin's coat. “Off with this.”

  
Merlin shrugged it off and dropped it on a chair. “What's going on?”

  
“Well, I reckon we could sit down and I could make a very sincere attempt at having a heart to heart conversation with you, except, I fancy that if you wanted any of that mess you'd have sobbed your eyes out to Gwen or Freya already. So,” Gwaine gestured to the corner of his sitting room where a freestanding punching bag had been pulled out from its home behind the TV.

  
“I want you to take a few whacks,” Gwaine said.

  
Merlin glanced at the red bag, and then at Gwaine. “Really?”

  
“Really,” Gwaine's face was pleasant, but his eyes were not dancing with mirth as they often were. They were serious.

  
“I'm really not in the mood, Gwaine.”

  
“Ohhh yes you are, you're in just the mood.” Gwaine made a shooing motion.

  
Merlin stepped close and eyed the bag. He'd never been teacher's pet at self defense class, and felt awkward being told to savage the bag with an audience. Actually, he'd been relieved when the class ran its course. He half turned to give Gwaine a plaintive look. “Really?” he asked once more.

  
Gwaine had padded back to open up a bottle of beer. He gestured with the bottle. “Tell you what, you take a dozen strikes and I'll consider you purged. How's that for a bargain?”

  
Merlin faced the bag once more. He hefted another sigh and made a fist.

  
“Thumb outside,” Gwaine reminded him.

  
Merlin held up his hand to show that he knew how to make a fist correctly, thank you. Then he bopped the bag.

  
“One,” Gwaine counted.

  
Seeing that Gwaine was going to hold him to twelve counts exactly, Merlin slipped into the stance they'd learned in the self defense course. With arms up he pattered a few firm strikes onto the bag. It waggled slightly. Gwaine counted them off from behind him.

  
Merlin rolled his shoulders, shifted his weight a little and came again, whacking the bag. The impact stirred up his arm.

  
He couldn't help but think of Detective Bertrand and Mrs. Gurira. Of course he didn't expect them to respond to every crackpot theory that landed on their desks daily. He wasn't one of those people who thought the police were there to serve him and every one of his whims. He even understood that they probably had strapped resources, and while it might not rate the top priority for anyone, hadn't his accumulated information been worth looking into? He wasn't a cop, but he thought his personal investigation had been pretty decent, at least worth someone sitting up and taking notice, something, instead of treating him like some kind of daffy alarmist. He was a lot of things, but crazed conspiracy theorist was not one of them.  
Yes, he was a lot of things. Predominatly an asshole, especially where Daegal was concerned. Daegal had every right to be mad at him. Merlin hadn't treated him well at all. He should never have said yes to a date. If he was going to be alone and miserable and stew over Arthur, the least he could do was keep his misery to himself.

  
And Arthur? Oh, the tangle around Arthur.

  
Where had it gone wrong? All he wanted to do was make the world a better, fairer place with standards of equality. He wanted to prove that being an omega didn't mean he had to have an alpha, that an omega could succeed the same as anyone else. He hadn't wanted to meet his truemate, he'd been content without, as opposed to the thousands like Gwen who thirsted for the one meant for them. He hadn't needed his, and Arthur didn't really need him. Wanted, maybe but they were both better off apart. How on earth would they have made it as a couple? Even now, Arthur was having extensive work done on the ancestral country Pendragon home so he could plant his future spouse there, presumably pregnant, while Arthur carried on working. Arthur honestly didn't see a problem uprooting this person, dumping zer alone in the middle of opulently appointed nowhere while ze incubated babies in a house done over in preparation for zer, but without any input from zer. It was like getting ready for a pet, something that Arthur was going to love, yes, and love very well...but it was too much like a possession, not an equal.

  
Arthur had been so excited Merlin hadn't dared point out how generously unfair he was being, not when Arthur was making strides with Morgana, and even with Merlin-the-beta.

  
But, somehow, all these fine intentions had transformed into spending his life lying and having his friends lie for him, and always wondering if the truth was going to come out. He'd been trying to avoid Arthur, probably being more hostile than he meant to be some times, or at least being just friendly in a normal way, and still somehow Arthur was drawn to him. Still Arthur was buying him beds and kissing him like he meant it.

  
Which made the whole thing more confusing, and made it hurt more. He was trying to do the right thing, even while he lusted after Arthur. And the lusting he'd been able to deal with, the more troubling part was that Merlin was starting to, in little, secret corners, actually like Arthur and spending time with him. It only made things worse, and Merlin had been sure it was nigh impossible to be worse. Yet, here it was. He liked Arthur.

  
When had it all become such a disaster? When had his life become an epic shambles? He hadn't asked for much, it might even be said he'd asked for less. He'd gone out of his way not to hurt anyone, to blend in, and yet for every well-intentioned move, things kept getting worse. And worse. And then the people in his life started commenting about it left and right, as if he'd had his own personal Statler and Waldorf installed.

  
Life was unfair. Merlin was well versed in this reality. This was a sick kind of unfair, however.

  
As Merlin came back to himself, he didn't recognize the guttural sounds he was making as he pounded at the bag. He'd actually forced the thing back, until the plastic base was pressed against the wall with the force of his ire. His fists ached from striking the bag over and over, and his arms burned. It felt strangely good, so he kept going, carried on a tide of anger, beating the bag until he was out of breath and heated. Air hot across his tongue, he stepped back and panted.

  
“Well, I think that was a long time coming.” Gwaine was sitting on the couch; and, from the looks of it, had been there awhile. He set his bottle down and went to the kitchen to procure a radioactive green sport drink. He popped the top and presented it to Merlin, who was wiping his brow on his sleeve, rather past caring about decorum. He accepted the plastic bottle and took greedy gulps, half draining it before he sank down to sit on the couch.

  
Gwaine sat down too, plenty of space between them. He put his bare feet up on the coffee table and resumed pulling on his beer with a lazy equanimity.

  
“I messed everything up,” Merlin said softly, staring at the punching bag.

  
“Did you, now?” Gwaine said from beside him, easy and light.

  
“I did,” Merlin confessed, and maybe it was as much to himself as it was to Gwaine. Saying it out loud, making it real.

  
“I find there are few things that alcohol, penitence or a good shag won't fix.”

  
Merlin couldn't help a bit of a smile. Trust Gwaine. “I don't think any of those will really help.”

  
“Well, there's always the last resort, but it's not for the faint of heart.” Gwaine rolled his head to look at Merlin.

  
Merlin met his gaze. “What's that?”

  
“The truth,” Gwaine said gravely.

  
Merlin looked back down at his drink. He took a swig, then placed the bottle back between his knees and began to fiddle with the label. The truth. That was an epic sized bomb, wasn't it? Then again, perhaps their little social circle was already standing

  
“Does this, by any chance, have much to do with your wee mess with Daegal and Arthur?”

  
Merlin made a soft noise that was equal parts frustration and embarrassment. He pressed cool hands, damp from the bottle to his dace. “Does everyone know?”

  
“I don't think Sophia's cottoned on, if it's any help.”

  
“It is not.”

  
Gwaine chuckled. He resumed sipping his beer.

  
Merlin cast him a suspicious glance. “That's it? You're not going to give me advice or scold me or...?”

  
“Why?”

  
Merlin shrugged. “Seems like everyone else is giving the little lost omega their two cents.”

  
Gwaine seemed to think it over a moment, then went back to his beer. “You're a grown lad who knows his own heart, omega or not. You can make your own decisions.”

  
“I think you're the first person to say that to me,” Merlin said.

  
“Well, bein' a grown lad also means you're prepared to take the consequences of those decisions,” Gwaine added.

  
Merlin was actually in the possession of sage words from the alcoholic fornicator, who apparently had more useful things to say than any others who had offered their consult free of charge. Decisions and consequences and knowing his own heart. Merlin sagged against the cushions.

  
Did he even know his own heart? Well, he was waist deep in those consequences, but Gwaine was right. If he was going to make this kind of a mess, he was just going to have to deal with the guilt and the pain he caused.

 

ᴥ

 

  
Morgana had decided she wanted Merlin to accompany her to her interview. She'd spent most of the week shopping for the perfect outfit and exchanging calls and texts with Daegal. Merlin tried to talk her into taking Gwen, but Gwen was booked solid and wouldn't be able to get away. Morgana seemed certain it was Merlin she wanted anyway.

  
It did make things slightly more complicated, because Merlin wasn't sure if he and Daegal were broken up officially or not. It seemed as though they were, but probably this was some stewing pre-break-up period to incubate the official decision, or the remote possibility of reconciliation. Merlin knew their liaison had run its course, and that splitting up was better for both of them. He had done Daegal a wrong, and Daegal should be free to find someone who would love him properly, for all his strong, bright qualities. All that remained was acknowledging the end.

  
In light of their being future exes, going to Daegal's place of work seemed invasive, so Merlin put Morgana off until he was able to contact Daegal and run it by him. They had a text conversation while Merlin fulfilled his civic duty in surrendering the remainder of the pink pill to Detective Bertrand into an evidence bag, where it was sure to languish, forgotten.

  
In the end Daegal gave an all right for Merlin to tag along once they hedged around whether or not it would be distracting. Merlin arranged to have his classes covered.

  
On Thursday Merlin drove Morgana to the studio in a very cheerful afternoon for November. He didn't feel any less nervous than the last time he'd been there unfortunately, but at least this time he wasn't going to be on camera. He had been put in charge of minding a leather binder which carried an assortment of documents and a few 8x10 photographs of her. It seemed presumptuous, but then, maybe it was better to be prepared? What did Merlin know about people demanding your autograph?

  
Morgana had bought a long-sleeved, short skirted tunic-style dress in a brilliant green with little clusters of beads all over it. She had paired it with some terrifying looking bondage ankle boots and her mighty new ring. How she had managed to canvass the city for the perfect outfit without being exposed or photographed or by a citizen was a mystery. With her hair floating around her in a curl muddled nimbus, she was a curious study in hards and softs, probably quite intentionally done.

  
Morgana betrayed not a lick of apprehension, though, of course, she was old hat with television studios much grander than this. Merlin didn't know if his presence was truly needed, or if Morgana was just getting her jollies. She did talk to him the entire ride about shoes, which Merlin was unable to give any opinion on, not that it deterred her.

  
The studio was much busier today, Merlin noted, as they stepped into the little reception area. There were four people behind the counter, and they all dropped into silence when Merlin opened the door and Morgana strode in. After a few seconds of staring one of them launched for the office phone and moments later a betafem in a coral suit and with a giant smile came to greet them. She introduced herself as the station manager and escorted them personally to the green room for make-up, ebullient.

  
Merlin remembered his experience with the hassled intern and smiled at the memory, since the obsequious cajolery wafting out of the station manager's pores was smothering.

  
“Here we are now, Tammy will help you, and I'll see you on the sound stage,” the station manager said.

  
When she departed the familiar make-up betafem smiled. “Hey, Cheekbones!” She waved at Merlin.

  
“God, I know, aren't they to die for?” Morgana chimed. “Makes me sick.”

  
“Photogenic as fuck, too,” Tammy agreed.

  
“I told him I could get him a job making a fortune lying on the hoods of cars and completely stacked alphas, and he turned me down.”

  
Tammy shook her head at Merlin as if she mourned his intellect. “Ungrateful shit.”

  
Merlin rolled his eyes. “Thanks for that, you two. I have a job, and I happen to know modeling isn't as glamorous as it looks, from the horse's mouth, in fact.”

  
Morgana tossed her hair back. “A horse. Compared to a horse at my time of life. Clearly he hasn't heard I am a special unicorn in my pants.” Morgana smiled and offered her hand to Tammy. “Morgana.”

  
“Tammy.” They clasped hands. “Why don't you have a seat so I can touch you up and take credit for your fucking gorgeous face and flawless skin?”

  
As Merlin understood it, Morgana had already donned heavier than usual make up to appear camera ready.

Still, Tammy used an assortment of tools and worked at Morgana's face a bit while they chatted, mostly about assorted high fashion. Merlin sat in a corner, playing with his phone, but really listening. When Tammy was done Morgana praised her work, and asked why she wasn't working in a salon where her talents might be better suited.

  
Tammy shrugged. “Got a kid at home and this was the best I could find.”

  
Morgana absorbed this, and then rectified the unfairness in the only way she could. She filled out four of the glossy pictures in Merlin's keeping. One was personally inscribed, but the other three were not. They also made assorted references to her exposure as a theta. For provenance Merlin was put in charge of snapping a few pictures of them.

  
“Not a penny less than three hundred apiece,” Morgana told her.

  
Tammy looked caught between awe and tears, her throat working. “You are one bitchin' lady,” she finally said. “I feel like I should offer to blow you, or eat you out, whichever your preference.”

  
“No sexual favors needed. Besides, it would make Professor Cheekbones blush.” Morgana waved towards Merlin.

  
“I could step out,” Merlin offered dryly.

  
Morgana just laughed and bid Tammy goodbye. She took Merlin's arm to navigate the corridor. In the studio they were set upon by a few members of the crew, wanting pictures snapped with their phones. Morgana let go of Merlin to gratify them all.

  
Daegal was much later in making an appearance in the studio. He was wearing another smart suit, this one in a rich purple; a single button jacket with a notch collar over a white blouse, and a column skirt. His hair was artfully ruffled, and his face camera ready. He glanced at Merlin briefly and their eyes met. Merlin offered a small smile. Daegal's was thin in response, then he turned away and visibly began to work himself into the zone. While Morgana chatted, Merlin decided to make himself scarce. He went to get a cup of coffee and found an out-of-the-way chair in the back to park himself in.

  
He alternated between fiddling with his phone and sipping the coffee, which was much better than it had been last time. Arthur hadn't answered either of the texts Merlin had bolstered himself to send, which attempted to reassure Arthur and dismiss the ill-advised make-out session. Even Merlin wasn't sure why he was trying to establish their former platonic rapport, when Arthur boycotting him was the best thing that could happen, in terms of maintaining confidentiality. Then again, Arthur had kissed a betamale and liked it, but unlike Katy Perry's exuberance, Merlin suspected Arthur was probably worried about catching gayness. Well, maybe not precisely that, but Arthur had kissed a beta boy, in his mind, and so it was entirely possible he was having an inapplicable sexual crisis.

  
Way to go, Merlin. Was there any way he could become a shittier human being?

  
Then there was Daegal, talking to the director, having some bummer break-up right when he should be so excited.

  
“I've been thinking,” Morgana startled him out of his thoughts. She sat beside him, and took his cup to swig back some coffee. Clearly she wasn't worried about cooties.

  
“About?”

  
Morgana put the empty cup back into Merlin's hand. “What do you think about me dropping a few little hints about the theta in a certain recent study?”

  
Merlin started, alarmed. “Morgana,” he warned. That was the absolute last thing his life needed right now.  
“Incautious, I know, but I don't have to name anyone, only refer to it obliquely,” Morgana said.

  
“Morgana, you can't just spring this on me. I'm really not comfortable being linked with this just now, having reporters camped outside my apartment asking questions, I just don't need it,” Merlin entreated.

  
“I'd be home by the time it airs, and if a few show up, all you have to do is say 'No Comment'.”

  
Merlin frowned. “You know it will be more than that. Anyway, aren't you supposed to be patching things up with Arthur? I think this might put a big bump in the road.”

  
Morgana gave a windy dramatic sigh, “Fine.”

  
Merlin narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion. “What have you and Daegal planned, anyway?”

  
“Are you accusing me of scheming?”

  
Merlin opened his mouth to retort, but closed it as he spied Daegal approaching.

  
“Good morning,” Daegal greeted them.

  
Morgana responded and Merlin managed a pleasant smile.

  
“Ready to rock the world?” Daegal offered a hand to Morgana.

  
She took it with a wink to Merlin.

  
Once in position and rolling, Daegal's intro spiel was largely the same as it had been when Merlin was on, though his on camera smile was perhaps just a bit brighter, his posture a smidgen taller, attitude more electric.

  
“Ms. le Fey, I am so honored to have you on the show today.”

  
Morgana smiled, inclined her head. “Thank you, Daegal.”

  
“I really am excited to talk to you, about your experiences, but I think, first of all, to get it out of the way, I have to ask, because everyone will: Why here? Why me?” Daegal spread his hands wide.

  
Morgana's mouth quirked slightly in an aborted smile. “To be honest, you did an interview with a scholar I greatly admire, Dr. Merlin Emrys.”

  
Merlin felt a wave of nausea wash over him.

  
Morgana continued, “In his most recent study, he interviewed a theta whose story I resonate with, and so I was introduced to you through your interview of him. However, predominantly, my very public outing has been dramatic and hurtful, and I have chosen not to patronize any media outlet which has sensationalized it for profit.”

  
Merlin's need to vomit receded marginally. Hopefully it would be forgotten considering there was an entire hour of time during which Morgana might say all manner of things.

  
“Well, I'm glad to get this opportunity to talk to you. There are a lot of theories and information floating around out there about you. Would you like to set the record straight?” Daegal invited.

  
Morgana did. She affirmed her gender, and a few other small facts, then discounted several reports and accusations that had been making the rounds. She and Daegal chuckled at a few of the odder ones, wondering how they'd come about, except of course, they had because Morgana had disappeared. They addressed that next, her quiet, and the reasons she hadn't made a statement right away.  
Invariably the topic of her masquerade came up.

  
“Deception is a harsh word, I think. That I was lying to the public has an implication that the public has a right to all I am, owns me, in effect, and is therefore entitled to my private life and my body in its totality, which is untrue. I think it's easy to forget that I do have some rights to privacy, the same as any citizen. I do sacrifice a degree of it in the name of my career; people take pictures of me on the street or of my shopping cart, seeing what I'm buying, they follow me when I leave my home, tiny things everyone does with their day, but I have dozens of people taking videos and pictures. I accept that as a part of fame, but it also makes what remains of my personal life very precious, and I've worked hard to guard it,” Morgana said thoughtfully.  
“I don't think anyone would argue you're not entitled to a private life,” Daegal agreed.

  
Morgana nodded, and unfolded her hands to gesture. “No, I suppose not, theoretically. But, I really want to stress that, while I have not countered assumptions made by others about my sexugender by others, I have never made any fraudulent claims regarding it myself. I have modeled clothing designed for people with the same physical assets I possess. I have spoken on behalf of alpha and omega issues that affect me. I have had dental surgery, but then, getting alpha canines is rather in vogue these days; Madonna is sporting a pair, and you don't get any more flamboyantly omega than that. And, let's be honest, this is an industry which thrives on manufactured perfection; you'd be hard-pressed to find a model who hasn't had something done.”

  
They picked at that topic a bit before launching into why Morgana had perpetrated her deception, and essentially, it was the same as Merlin's many interviews; employment and privacy. Theta models could only expect to be hired for chimeric shoots, where the central focus was their theta-ness. They were largely ineligible for most jobs, since models were matched to brands, and a theta was neither alpha, omega nor beta. Employment options were thin on the ground and the behavior by those in power was even more exploitative when something rare was available.

  
Morgana couldn't resist, though. “In part, my childhood was much like the theta interview which drew my attention to Dr. Emrys, which is to say, my gender was met with parental disgust and a general misunderstanding.”

  
“What are some of the things you've experienced, in the forms of negative social response to your gender?” Daegal asked.

  
Morgana shrugged. “I've had obscenities screamed at me, I've been pinned down and forcibly stripped so someone could see if I really had both sets of genitals, and I've been the victim of a rape attempt. Neither alphas nor omegas felt comfortable around me, and many times they would flee my company in public restrooms, for example. No one wants to discuss thetas, we don't seem to belong anywhere. Essentially, from my teen years I've been made to wonder if I should hate myself for the way I was made, and fear for myself. When coupled with employment difficulties, it made suppressants an obvious solution.”

  
“It sounds a lot like suppressants and your dental surgery have actually made the world safer for you,” Daegal said.

  
Morgana nodded. “They have. In fact in a recent study by the United Nations across several countries, it was found that, percentage-wise within the population, thetas are more likely to experience sexual violence in their lives than alphas, betas, mus and chis.”

  
“That's interesting, omegas are the only ones more likely, then?”

  
“Yes. However, thetas are more likely than omegas to be the subjects of what is known as 'sadistic rape', which brings to mind a certain serial killer who made it his mission to murder thetas. It's been extrapolated that since rape is about power, not about sex, the theta can represent the alpha, since we have alpha genitals but no subduing capacity to act as preventative. Alphas are still the top ruling caste in the world, and so there is an aspect of overpowering something that appears alpha.” Morgana explained, soberly.

  
Deagal shook his head, expression a little pained. “Statistics like that are always hard to swallow, aren't they?”

  
“They are. And there is another side to this. I've also been treated with fetishistic fascination, and become desirable to people for no other reason than what I'm sporting. With achieving some measure of success, there is also a pressure to be a symbol for others like me. While that's all very flattering, it still reduces me to my genitals and I am much more than that.”

  
“I can agree there. Model, personality and performer, of course, but you're also an entrepreneur, businessperson, spokesperson, creative consultant, guest columnist, activist, blogger, you initiated a scholarship for AG youth performers, and a charity for sexual assault survivors.” Daegal listed them off, and Morgana nodded along. Merlin hadn't realized quite how much she'd been involved in.

  
Daegal gently lead them back from the more intense topics, back into Morgana's life and the reasons she had decided to do what she had, and what it was to live with such a secret. She even had a few funny stories to tell, which brightened the mood considerably.

  
As they began to wind to a close, Morgana said, “I've never been called upon to prove my alpha-ness, you know? The illusion of it has been sufficient and my behavior has never given anyone cause to question it, even though I have been on blockers for so long. And now this maelstrom! All I can think is one thing.”

  
“What is that?” Daegal prompted.

  
“I haven't changed. Nothing about me is different, except that I've had my sexual identity and my private rights become a part of public discourse. I can't help but think; If I'm unchanged, and others have altered their judgments of me negatively solely because of my sexugender, that means those people have some serious questions they need to ask themselves about gender equality and their perceptions.”

  
When they finished filming Daegal chatted to Morgana a moment while assorted technical things were attended to. A few still photographs were taken, some posed, and when some kind of all clear had been sounded and people began to move freely, some candids too. Morgana rose to a small cluster of suits who wanted words with her. She shook hands, smiled, but Merlin saw the sharpness in her eyes to know it was business. Merlin remained where he was.

  
At least, until Daegal appeared and asked, “Can we talk?” softly.

  
Merlin swallowed, nodded. A swift glance at Morgana said she was still very much engaged.

  
Daegal motioned for Merlin to follow, and in short accord they were closed into the privacy of the green room. Tammy took one look at them and departed unprompted.

  
“I'm sorry for being here,” Merlin said at once.

  
Daegal leaned against the counter, leaving plenty of space between them. “I think she was more nervous than she was letting on.”

  
Then came a thready quiet.

  
Daegal broke it. “I can't date you anymore, Merlin.”

  
Merlin nodded. “I kind of, yeah, figured.”

  
“I kind of wish things were different than they are, but they're not.”

  
“You don't have to explain,” Merlin said. “I understand, and I'm so sorry for hurting you, for the whole thing.” He looked down at his hands.

  
“I hope not the whole thing,” Daegal said, some mild levity re-entering the tones.

  
Merlin smiled a bit himself. “No, not everything. Just the messed up parts.”

  
“Me neither. We had great talks, and fun, I think. Maybe one day we could even be friends.”

  
“Maybe,” Merlin agreed. He did like Daegal.

  
“Maybe. Bottom line is, I am hurt and sad, but it's not going to kill me or anything. And, I don't want to make it sound like I was totally unaware you were … in a space. I did know, but you were cute and smart, and I'm a sucker for anyone who wears their heart on their sleeve, and maybe I thought I could make it work, you know?” Daegal tilted his head down to try and catch Merlin's gaze. Merlin was still staring at his hands, but he drew upwards to look at Daegal.

  
“You don't need to explain,” Merlin said again, feeling awkward and exposed.

  
“Well, I kinda do. But, shit, Merlin, I was willing to try because I didn't know how deep it went, and I don't want you to explain anything to me because I really don't want to know. I'm trying really hard not to reproach you, because you should have turned me down– but I don't want to get on that.” Daegal turned and went to one of the little closets. He pulled down a purse on a shelf and rifled it until he came up with a slightly battered note card folded over. Merlin recognized it from a few weeks ago, from the 'Who Am I?' party game at Gwen's on Halloween. The card taped to his back Daegal had taken before Merlin had gotten a chance to see who Gwen had saddled him with.

  
Daegal came to Merlin, mouth pressed. He held up the folded card. “But you gotta deal with this, Merlin.

Whatever the issue, I don't care, but deal with it, or you're going to hurt more people. Not to mention yourself.” He looked at him sadly and put the card into Merlin's hand.

  
Merlin opened it. In Gwen's neat lettering was written _Beatrice of Messina_. Merlin swallowed thickly.

  
“I've got to get back.” Daegal's words dragged Merlins attention up. He nodded.

  
“Yes– sorry. I – sorry.”

  
Daegal squeezed his shoulder, and this time his smile was sympathetic. Then he left.

 

  
ᴥ

 

  
Gwen made dinner in an impromptu dinner party as a post-interview celebration. There was seabass, salad, and other ridiculously healthy foodstuffs which all should have tasted like the worst diet rations, but because Gwen was some kind of miracle worker, was all delicious.

  
Freya had been the decorating committee, and she had done the table with two toned carnations and a paper runner lettered with Congrats on your Celebrity Cooter! Which was altogether too ribald for Freya, but Morgana seemed to think it was really funny.

  
Aithusa came, dressed all in white and black. Freya had brought Sophia, whose nagging had reached such epic levels that she was allowed only on her very best behavior, for Freya's peace of mind. Finna too, who brought brandied cherries to be served over ice cream after dinner to those inclined.

  
Merlin was inclined.

  
He sat in the corner with his boozy dessert and watched Sophia clutch onto Morgana's every word with a reverent awe. Morgana held her little court, only occasionally distracted by Aithusa eating the plump, dark cherries.

  
Gwen appeared by Merlin's side while even Finna and Freya were absorbed in a story Morgana was telling about being stranded in an elevator with George Clooney during the Cannes Film Festival. She didn't say anything, but Merlin figured one way or another she'd found out he was single.

  
“Beatrice?” he finally muttered at her darkly.

  
She raised her brows at him, confused, so Merlin eased up to dig the card out of his pocket and hand it over. “Daegal had it.”

  
“Oh,” Gwen took it, and soothed the crumpled corners. “I wondered why you didn't say anything about it at the time.”

  
“Really, Gwen?”

  
She shrugged and handed it back.

  
Though Merlin expected her to say something, to nag, comment, advise or sympathize, she said nothing, Merlin found the following silence far more poignant.

  
He begged out of the party early, and when he did Gwen gave his hand a squeeze, but that was all.

  
He aimed home, forcibly preventing himself from thinking, because thinking would only lead to hurting, and he was hanging on very thinly as it was.

  
When he arrived at his apartment though, the door was slightly ajar. Then again, it seemed like everyone was just entering his apartment these days. Morgana, Daegal, or, heaven help him, another surprise from Arthur. Though which ever of them had left the door to his home open was going to get it. He took a deep breath and entered.

  
He found his formerly – if only recently – tidy home in a total shambles. It was as if an angry whirlwind had torn through it, and Merlin could only wander, dumbstruck through the debris. Books were thrown everywhere, furniture tipped over, items broken, drawers pulled out and their contents strewn, pictures tipped off the walls, pillows shredded so their stuffing lay about the mess in little tufts. At once Merlin could see his laptop was gone from where he'd left it. So was his television and dvd player.

  
The damage was bad, but worse were his walls. Free of pictures, someone had taken it upon themselves to redecorate them with spraypaint. WHITE BITCH'S LOVE BLACK DICK twirled messily between the windows, the t sort of floating between the c and the i, as if it had been forgotten. The halls featured said dicks heavily, phalli spurting out words like FUCK YOU, BITCHASS FAG and MANCIN PUSSY. The worst and largest were the vehemently crafted words OMEGA KNOT-SLUT FUCKHOLE CUM DUMP written over his new bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was somehow the Idina Menzel Chapter.
> 
> As ever, I find the discussions in the comments very welcome and fascinating, but I'm not going to participate directly, in arguing for or against interpretations. Whatever anyone takes from this fic is valid, and I like hearing all your thoughts, though if you asked me a direct question I'll do my best for answer.
> 
> Thank you so much for the passionate response to this fic!


	7. Faces and Condensation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, my betas deserve hugs and kisses and awards, thank you Kes and Stray! They continue to work really hard to make me sound smarter than I really am. And more grammatically savvy. 
> 
> Sorry for the wait, but at least this is a long chapter!
> 
> Please remember, for those of you still unclear about terms or processes, the appendix is your friend!

Heart in a Headlock

Chapter 7: Faces and Condensation

 

The police didn't swarm around Merlin's apartment, as there were only three of them, but it still felt like a great buzz of activity was occurring. A stern betafem in a crime scene uniform was roving all over the apartment with a camera, photographing the damage, the graffiti, and the final indignity Merlin had only found when he looked in the kitchen; his vibrator shoved down the garbage disposal,  
and the words PLUG IT UP SLUT scrawled on his kitchen cabinets to the left, with some helpful arrows pointing toward the sink, in case Merlin had been unable to connect the two. The vibrator showed signs of having been whirled around a few times.

  
Another technician was fingerprinting all the points of entry, with a focus on the front door, and the forced lock. Merlin hadn't noticed the scratches near the handle when he'd arrived, he'd been so intent on girding himself for whichever unwelcome visitor he was going to find making zerselves comfortable in his living room. It seemed funny he could miss a little thing like that, but then, if he were truthful, he'd have to admit he'd been distracted of late.

  
Detective Oliver Gregory from Property had appeared after the first respondent uniforms, who had since gone. He was a bearded betamale who was resigned to his task. He asked Merlin some questions upon his arrival, and was now moving between the two scene technicians, muttering and chewing on the end of his pen as he made notes on a pad.

  
Merlin loitered near the entry way, not yet released from police attention, and yet not allowed to touch anything in the apartment. Having already called his bank to tell them to beware of suspicious activity on his account, he was trying not to fret, and failing. Then again, these were the precise kinds of circumstances which caused fretting, so he allowed himself to indulge. Hard not to, when his hallway had become a canvas for vandals, and yet the hall remained the space least affronted of the apartment.

  
The wreck of the place was one thing, and it was bad – the gendered insults, the vandalism, all his broken or stolen possessions – but worse was the theft of his laptop, and a certain cork-board pinned with printed pages. Those specific thefts made it impossible not to worry. Made his stomach feel greasy as he couldn't help but make suppositions, and those suppositions only made the whole scenario worse.

  
The only saving grace was that he'd been too distracted to move his suppressants and hormones from where he'd hidden them on the closet floor when Arthur had come to his apartment. Perhaps it had actually been a hope, a preparedness, should Arthur return. Or Morgana, or whoever was going to waltz into his apartment next without permission. It seemed to be happening with such increased frequency these days, and with that in mind, the medicine cabinet was terribly exposed. Merlin hadn't wanted to have to worry about switching things back and forth, therefore running the risk of forgetting on some vital occasion when someone might get nosy. So he'd left them there, wrapped in a t-shirt on the floor of his closet. They were still there, untouched. Or, had been, before Merlin discreetly removed them to his work bag. Apparently thieves did not like to dig through dirty laundry.

  
When a knock sounded on the front door, Merlin used the peephole first, even with the police present. He found Gwen standing in the hall, biting her lower lip.

  
“I told you you didn't have to come,” Merlin said as he opened the door, but he knew his voice was full of relief that she had.

  
Gwen grabbed him into a hug. “Of course I came, you silly twit! No one should be alone, doing this.”

  
Merlin squeezed her tightly. He'd only called to ask if he could sleep at her place when he was finished here, not feeling safe bedding down in the apartment. He would not have been able to sleep, nor even lie comfortably, not with those words hovering over his bed. He'd tried to be strong and brave while on the phone with her, tried make it sound like a hassle he had to deal with, and not something that was still making his knees sporadically quiver. It wasn't as if a slasher was hiding in the closet, after all. Whoever had done this was long gone, and the police had come here quickly to gather all that vital evidence which needed to be collected as soon as possible for maximum chance of finding those responsible. His lingering nerves about it were, frankly, intellectually, a little silly.

  
Thankfully, Gwen had seen through his rationalizing to the core of him, which was really quite alarmed by the incursion. Sometimes her skills at identifying and cutting through bullshit were to be praised.  
“Did they take anything valuable?” Gwen asked when she withdrew.

  
“My laptop. TV, iPod, microwave.” And a cork board full of papers about a pill and people who were dying around Albion campus possibly connected to said pill. He didn't say it, not yet. He hadn't been explicit with anyone how deep his private investigation was going, and the fact that his documentation had gone frightened him more than he could say. And then there was his laptop. The research, the partially written papers, articles, hell, grades. Most of it was backed up so his data loss would be minimal but the idea of someone reading his documents made him squirm. Sure it was passworded, but that probably meant very little to someone adept with computers. So much was on it, not the least of which were his emails. A sneak-thief wouldn't care about the contents, would have it wiped for resale . . . but anyone willing to steal the cork-board was not just a vandal who had burglarized the place for the value of stolen electronics. For that reason, Merlin wondered who was poking around his laptop now. Going through his emails.

  
And that made him feel sticky and horrified.

  
The gravity of the loss struck him again. “Christ, Gwen.” He threaded his fingers through his hair.

  
Gwen drew him into her arms for another tight squeeze. When they parted she nodded towards the profanity on the hall wall, the fat alpha cocks with the huge fat knots. “Is there more of that?” She asked softly, eyes sympathetic.

  
“All over,” Merlin confirmed.

  
Gwen made a soft sound of distress. Merlin didn't have the heart to tell her they'd vandalized his vibrator and probably broken his garbage disposal in the process. It was hard enough pointing the police toward it, even if they were detached and professional. Maybe mutilated sex toys were every third phone call they got at frat houses, but it was a first for Merlin.

  
Gwen led Merlin into the living room, sucking in her breath when she beheld the extent of the damage there, the lurid suggestions on the walls. Once asking the cop with the camera if it had been recorded, she dusted off the couch and guided Merlin to sit down. Merlin went. He could just see the other technician in the kitchen now, extracting bits of silicon and mangled plastic from the disposal with tweezers.

  
Gregory appeared from the bedroom and thrust a finger at Gwen. “Whoa, whoa – who are you?” Detective Gregory said, casting his gaze around, as if to figure out who'd let Gwen in.

  
“I'm Dr. Gwen Smith. I came for Merlin,” Gwen said, unperturbed.

  
“This is a crime scene, lady,” Detective Gregory said.

  
“Doctor.” Gwen corrected primly, “And I did ask the officer if this area had been processed and documented. She said it was clear. Merlin needed to sit down.”

  
Detective Gregory shot a look at the camera tech (who was entirely unconcerned with his huff), then hefted a long-suffering sigh.  
“Ideally, I'd like to take Merlin home with me. This has been a dreadful shock. Would that be possible?” Gwen asked. Merlin recognized the patient and yet authoritative voice she used when dealing with difficult parents.

  
“Well, I got a few more questions,” Detective Gregory said.

  
“It is after midnight, Detective. Can't they wait until tomorrow?” Gwen reasoned.

  
They went back and forth until Detective Gregory was left holding Gwen's business card, and looking a little puzzled as to how, precisely, he'd come to give Merlin leave to depart. But he had. And Merlin wasn't sure if he was relieved or not. On the one hand, he didn't want to look at the wreck of his home any longer. On the other, he felt hesitant to leave it, not knowing what would happen in his absence.

  
Gwen brooked no insolence on the matter, and for once, Merlin let her guide him along, stick him in her car, and drive him to her home.

  
Morgana was waiting up. She'd had a bit too much celebratory wine at their dinner, and had elected to stay at Gwen's rather than return to Finna's that night. Dressed in Gwen's frilly lavender robe, she ushered them inside.

  
Merlin found the couch all made up and ready for him. He was impressed. He doubted Morgana had changed her own sheets in years, despite her youthful period of relative homelessness, and yet she'd arranged his bed for him twice in one week. The couch was a sad competitor to the luxurious bed in his apartment, but Merlin was glad of it. It felt safe, in Gwen's cozy home. What he lost in physical comfort he'd recouped in peace of mind.

  
While brushing his teeth he heard Gwen filling Morgana in on the events in a hushed voice that still penetrated the bathroom door. Morgana's shock, presumably at the graffiti, was angry and immediate. They went silent when he came out of the bathroom, but Merlin didn't have it in him to care. He had too many other concerns on his plate.

  
“Can I use your computer, Gwen?” he asked.

  
“Of course.” She hastened to collect it for him.

  
He took the laptop to the couch and booted it up, aware of Gwen and Morgana watching him for a while, then surrendering and returning to their own beds after a few murmured comments.

  
When Merlin heard both their doors close, leaving him in privacy, he went to work. One by one, he went through the websites he frequented, changing the log-in information to his assorted email addresses, the school servers, and anywhere he could think that had sensitive information, like Amazon or his bank account.  
The very last thing he was faced with was an email draft, sitting quietly in the dummy account he'd made to answer Arthur's post. Merlin closed his eyes, stomach pitching. What should he do? What was the best thing? The safest? The wisest?

  
Honesty was Gwaine's advice. Gwen had tried not to advise him, but he knew she wanted Arthur and Merlin to settle down beside her and Lance in Happily-Ever-After-Land where the apple pie was always sweet and days were full of laughter. Finna wanted him to find himself. Daegal wanted him not to hurt anyone. Freya, well, if Freya had an opinion she was keeping it behind her teeth, though Merlin thought of her own brand of omission with her parents, and their constant attempts to force her into marriage, and wondered if she wouldn't have recommended silence.

  
So many different opinions, all well-meaning. All from people who wanted the best for him. That begged the question, of course: What was the best for Merlin?

  
And, just as importantly, what was best for Arthur? What would Arthur advise someone in Merlin's position to do, if it didn't involve him? That thought made Merlin's stomach squirmy. He had a feeling that Arthur would champion hard truth, seeing as he'd yet to hold back when it might be politer to do so.

  
Then again, this wasn't 'I meet lots of people who suck up to me, so sometimes I seem rude to discourage people from getting over-familiar with my wealthy handsomeness'. This was 'thanks, but no thanks to your very being, kthnxbai'. Ignorance was bliss for a few reasons, because sometimes not being ignorant shattered people. Merlin actually wasn't seeking to ruin anyone's life.

  
Then there was that off-hand comment, when Arthur had confessed to reverse engineering Merlin's schedule and hinted that he could have the Albion server hacked. Innocuous perhaps, but couldn't emails be traced? One little email in the hands of some tech wiz might just connect the confession to Merlin. Arthur certainly had the money to hire someone to do that, if they weren't already on his payroll, and he was stubborn enough to want to be turned down face to face.

  
Merlin stared at the words on the screen until they became nothing but senseless, disjointed pixels, contemplating that question atop all the other unrest which churned inside.

  
It had gone too far, he knew. He'd chosen silence. He had to stick with it.

  
Weariness ate through the last of his vacillation, and he resolved himself. With an aggressive stab to the keyboard, he deleted it. Then he deleted the account.

  
Qualmish, he closed the laptop, set it aside. Then he pulled the pillow over his head and tried to sleep.

  
ᴥ

 

“Look, Professor Emrys, we've done a report, we've had cops all over your place for the last two days and they found nothing, not a fingerprint, not a hair. It's sad, ever since they started airin' CSI and Law & Order, every dumb hood knows about fingerprints and DNA. Now, I get what you're saying, but these kinds of break-ins happen. It's senseless and stupid, but it's the kind of crap some kids do. They took your electronics to hock them, probably for drugs.”

  
Merlin was having vivid fantasies of wringing Detective Gregory's neck, much as he had experienced with Detective Bertrand. He dug his fingers into the arm of the ratty guest chair opposite Gregory's desk. “They weren't there for the TV. They were there for my laptop and the research.”

  
“I'm sure it's real important research, Professor, but we've had a few of these break-ins, same M.O. right in your neighborhood. One Wednesday night, and another Friday, a few blocks from you. We've got someone working the neighborhood, and believe me, we're doing all we can to see your possessions returned,” Detective Gregory said.

  
Most of the electronics Merlin couldn't have cared less about. They were easily replaced, and frankly, probably hadn't been worth the stealing. His laptop he was irate about, but it was the missing cork-board with all the papers that really terrified him, that moved the event from an ire-inducing offense to a sick wariness. No teenage hoods desperate for smack would have bothered taking that.

  
Merlin took a deep breath and repeated. “My pinboard is gone, all my documentation – look, could you just have a word with Detective Bertrand, in Vice? I reported some suspicious activity to him last week, provided him documentation, and now all my originals of that documentation are gone. Apparently petty thieves are interested in chemical analyses.”

  
Detective Gregory gave another heavy sigh.

  
“Please,” Merlin repeated.

  
“Gimme a second,” Detective Gregory said unenthusiastically and heaved himself out of his chair. He left Merlin sitting at his desk in the bullpen, surrounded by other police busily working away on computers, phones and with an assortment of visitors. Merlin sat, drumming his fingers and waited, trying to ignore the smells of stale coffee, B.O. and distress.

  
When Gregory returned it was with Detective Bertrand, and something about the set of their shoulders as they approached rang a bell of alarm in Merlin's mind. He sat up a little straighter.

  
“Professor, I'm sorry to hear 'bout this. How you doin'?” Detective Bertrand greeted.

  
“My home was broken into, all my copies of the information I provided to you were stolen, along with my laptop, which contained several ongoing projects, and assorted slurs were painted on my walls.” Merlin tried very hard not to sound testy. “And I don't want to hear this is some random occurrence.”

  
“Wait,” Detective Bertrand pulled up a chair from the next desk over and sat. “You mean that analysis? For those pills?”

  
“Yes.”

  
“Could be they're cooking, and it looked like a good recipe,” Detective Gregory said, sitting behind his own desk once more.

  
Detective Bertrand shook his head slowly. “Naw, this wasn't that. You're sure it's gone? You didn't just misplace it? I heard they tossed your place pretty good.”

  
“No, Detective.”

  
For a moment, Merlin considered keeping his mouth shut. However, the weight of his civic duty and having seen one too many crime procedural shows where no one ever told the whole truth and thus slowed down the process had him wanting to be candid. “I was continuing my investigation, as you were fairly uninterested.” Detective Bertrand shifted a little at that. “I had it attached to a cork-board along with over forty names linked to various violent incidents surrounding the campus in the last two years. The board was on my dining room table, as I had been working on it the previous day. So, yes. I am very sure it is gone, and not lying in pieces in my apartment.”

  
“That wasn't wise, Professor, diggin' around like that. We don't recommend that kinda thing. You shoulda left it to the professionals,” Detective Bertrand admonished, but he looked thoughtful.

  
“The professionals filed a report and deemed it unworthy of their time,” Merlin reminded him starkly, as Detective Bertrand had been the professional in question. “And, seeing as I supplied you with the chemical analysis, I'd like a copy of it from your records, please.”

  
Detective Gregory snorted. Detective Bertrand shot him a look that quelled the property detective. Gregory began to scribble something onto a form in front of him. Bertrand focused back on Merlin. “What kindsa incidents did you dig up?”

  
“The Cullen and Mitchel matters, suicides, some assaults. The numbers are disproportionately high for alphas,” Merlin said.

  
“Has the Cullen kid coughed to takin' 'em?” Detective Bertrand asked.

  
Merlin arched a brow. He knew when he was being pumped for information. “That would be something to ask his lawyer.”

  
Detective Bertrand changed tack. “Didya tell anyone you were pursuin' this unauthorized investigation?”  
“Since our previous conversation ended with you implying this wasn't a police matter, I'm curious who I needed authorization from to collate information from public records and news reports,” Merlin shot back.

  
Detective Gregory snorted again. “He's got you there, Jack.”

  
Detective Bertrand looked like he wanted to roll his eyes and mutter something about pedants or academics. Or pedantic academics.

  
Merlin cut him off before Bertrand could rephrase the question. “May I have that copy of the analysis?”

  
Detective Bertrand shifted again, and the alarm-bells in the back of Merlin's mind rang anew. “It, uh, it seems that file has been misplaced.”

  
Merlin went cold. “Misplaced,” he repeated, momentarily stunned.

  
“Sometimes things get mis-filed, Professor, we're only human, and short-staffed, since the budget cuts.” Bertrand's defense sounded all manner of reasonable.

  
Merlin didn't believe him for one solitary second. “What about the rest of the pill I gave you?”

  
Now Detective Bertrand looked uncomfortable.

  
“Misplace some evidence, too? Are you sure it's not just _gone_?” Merlin parroted the detective's words back at him, then rubbed a hand over his face. Shit. Shit. His apartment and the police station. All the tangible evidence there had ever been a pink pill in the dorm room of an alpha student disappeared, all in less than a week.

  
“You musta told someone what you were researchin', Professor, who?” Detective Bertrand asked, and this time Merlin understood it for what it was. This was not someone just being nosy, or a matter of professional curiosity. This was one too many coincidences for even Detective Bertrand to accept.

  
Merlin pressed his lips together, mind whirling. “No one, not fully. Alice Cullen gave me the pill, from her brother's dorm. Professor Gwaine Green ran the analysis for me; he knew I was curious. I consulted Dr. Gwen Smith on the effects it would have, she in turn made a few discreet inquiries. I told Michonne Gurira the pill may have had an effect on Edward, but not that I was looking into it. You're the only one I told the whole thing to.” Merlin leveled his gaze with Bertrand. “Do you believe me, now? That something's going on?”

  
Detective Bertrand looked a little grim. “I don't know, Professor. But I sure don't like that your place gets tossed the day after you talk to me, and now I can't find that file. I don't like it at all.”

  
ᴥ

  
The following Sunday, Gwen, Freya and Gwaine convened at Merlin's in work-clothing to help Merlin pick up the shambles of his apartment. Everything had been gone over thoroughly by the police, and photographed thrice over: by the police, for insurance purposes and for Merlin's own records. Detective Gregory, backed by Detective Bertrand, had only just given clearance for Merlin to tidy it. Just in time, since Gwen had canceled going up to see Lance this weekend so she could be here for Merlin. She was also under strict orders to keep quiet about this until after the place had been painted: that way no visitors turned up. Even though Arthur had yet to respond to any of Merlin's communications, somehow Merlin knew this was threat enough to someone pack adjacent for Arthur to turn up and throw his weight around in some bizarre alpha effort to chase away the bad mojo. It would be disastrous.

  
Everyone wore latex gloves Gwaine had brought from his lab. The police hadn't found any fluids, bodily or otherwise, but still, the apartment felt as if a thick sediment of uncleanliness had settled over everything.

  
Gwaine moved through the apartment, righting the furniture. While most of the books had been upset, a few had been defaced or torn to bits; Freya was sorting and stacking them. Gwen helped Merlin collect up the trash; pillow innards, broken knick-knacks and book-ends, scratched DVDs, shattered crockery, torn pages and other broken-beyond-repair waste. There was a lot of it, since casual destruction and spray paint had been heavy-handed. The curtains were beyond saving; so were most of the lamp-shades, the couch throw, all the pillows, and the coffee table.

  
“Merlin, as much as I fancy a bit of color around the place, you're not keeping your new wall art, are you?” Gwaine said, on examining one of the many spray painted messages on the wall after he'd corrected all the furniture.

  
Freya frowned. “I object to calling it art. This isn't proper graffiti art. I teach a course in it.This is vandalism.”  
“The super is going to have it painted over,” Merlin said. “As soon as this place is clear.”

  
“I should hope so,” Gwen said, frowning at one of the lurid phalli. “You don't have to pay for it, do you?”

  
Merlin shook his head. “Insurance.” He wasn't sure it was going to help, though. Was he ever going to be able to sleep here again? The whole space felt violated, and no matter how many coats of paint, Merlin was sure he was still going to be able to see the profanity, and the dancing dicks on his walls. Even if he moved his bed to the other side of the room and painted over the slur, could he ever sleep in a room where he had been called a – no. He wasn't even going to think the words. He didn't care how often rappers tossed them out casually as just part of 'the culture', he was not willingly thinking those words where he was supposed to be safe and valued.

  
“I was thinking of moving, maybe,” he confessed, sweeping up a pile of refuse and dumping it into the bag Gwen held open.

  
“About time. The parking's shit here,” Gwaine said.

  
“Where to?” Freya asked.

  
Merlin shrugged. “A house, maybe? Not somewhere big, but bigger than this. Permanent.” He'd been thinking about it while sleeping at Gwen's. Usually, as he drifted to sleep, he could hear the gentle bumps and susurrations of his neighbors. Not so at Gwen's, and perhaps a bit more space would be nice, a little more privacy. Built in bookshelves, a paint color he actually liked, instead of institution beige. Not to mention walls which didn't remember the break in.

  
“There might be something in my neighborhood!” Gwen said brightly.

  
“Yeah, but, how much longer will you be there?” Merlin said. It was a nice area and all, but it was a little more home-association-y than he was considering aiming for, and when Gwen went, so did the main appeal.

  
“Where on earth would I go?” Gwen asked.

  
“You and Lance are thinking of settling down, remember?” Merlin reminded her. That topic had been flitting around the edges of conversations for a while now, without ever settling into a plan or a directly stated intent. Merlin wasn't stupid though, it was only a matter of time.

  
“I hope it's a May wedding,” Freya added with a smile. Apparently she thought it seemed pretty foregone, too.

  
Gwen frowned, straightening where she stooped had to collect some torn pages. “Lance hasn't proposed, and even if he does, I'm not going anywhere. I have my practice, my patients, the clinic, you, the school. You don't think I would just abandon them – and you – and move, do you?” Gwen looked between the three of them.

  
Merlin hadn't quite meant to blunder into such a sensitive topic. He hastened to comfort her. “No, but when you and Lance settle down, I know you want to start a family, and even if that's here you'll need a bigger place.” He was proud he'd pulled that out of his ass. It was true, though. Gwen's little home was charming, but a too cozy for three or four comfortably. The fact that there was only one bathroom was enough alone to make any sane person re-think raising a family there.

  
Gwen twitched her mouth. “Don't think I'm fooled by that, Merlin. You do think I'm going to leave you all for Lance.”

  
“Now, now,” Gwaine interjected. “I'm sure Merlin didn't mean to get your back up, Gwen. It's natural for new families to find new homes, isn't it? Neutral turf, instead of his and hers.”

  
Gwen shook her head and stepped forward to remove the dust-pan from Merlin's fingers and take his hand, “I do listen to you, Merlin. Yes, I might want a family and marriage, but I wouldn't trade everything I have for them. I have all these things because they're important. I might need to make some concessions and some compromises, but I would never leave you all.” She reached out to Freya, took her slim hand when Freya offered it. “You're my family, as much as my dad and Elyan. More maybe, because friends are the family you chose.”

  
She squeezed both their hands.

  
“Pack,” Gwaine chimed in casually. “Pack is what you are.”

  
“No,” Merlin was quick to say, looking from Gwen to Gwaine. “We're friends, family, not pack.”

  
“And you think you can't be both? All right, I take it back, no need to frown at me so,” Gwaine held up his hands with a laugh.

  
“I don't care what we are,” Freya said. “So long as we matter.” She reached to take Merlin with her other hand and pulled them both in to her for a quick cuddle.

  
Merlin wished it was more reassuring than it was. He let the hug linger a time, but also tugged free to resume cleaning. Gwen and Freya followed suit, and for a few minutes were was no chatter while they loaded trash bags and picked up debris.

  
“Merlin, are you all right?” Gwen asked after many minutes.

  
He glanced up, tried to smooth his face over if a worried expression was what had caught her attention. “Yeah. Just, a lot, you know?” He sent her a weak smile and went back to sweeping.

  
For a few minutes, there was quiet.

  
“Mate, I know this is a bad time,” Gwaine said, “but I think you ought to know; it seems my lab has had a bit of your bad luck.”

  
Merlin's blood chilled. He hadn't thought it was possible any more.“What?”

  
“Someone's stolen my computer at the lab, the one attached to my mass spec that stores the results of things I run.”

  
“My God!” Gwen said.

  
“Mm,” Gwaine agreed. “Bit of a coincidence, don't you think?”

  
“Coincidence?” Freya trotted forward, clasping Merlin's copy of _Perversity Think Tank_.

  
Gwaine took the book from Freya and flipped through some of the pages. “Merlin's home done over, my lab equipment. Any disturbances 'round yours, Gwen?”

  
“Mine?” Gwen's brows furrowed. “No. But … is this about that pill?”

  
“Bit odd, don't you think? Thieves nick his electronics and they bother to steal some cork board with a chemical analysis, yet they can't spell 'bitch' properly?” Gwaine closed the book and gestured to the wall with it. “The cocks make sense, and that bit in the kitchen, the bedroom, but this? 'White bitches love black dick'? Or, over there, the 'white power' with the swastika? Doesn't make any sense.”

  
“Ohhh, now you mention it, I see what you mean,” Freya said, coming to stand beside Gwaine and squinted at some of the spray paint. Then she backed up and spread her hands wide, as if taking in a work of art. “It doesn't make sense, thematically, and it should. All art has purpose, a message, even art like this.”

  
“Right, this bit here, the silly mickeys. They're childish, all the drawings of cocks. Stupid and immature.”

  
“The ones about omegas could make more sense, but they're vicious, not a joking superiority, like the genitals. You can see someone grinning and trying not to laugh as they painted those, but not the rest of it,” Freya said, touching one of the vulgar drawings.

  
“Then there's the violent ones, like 'fucking die' in the loo. And then here's some racist, and some white supremacy, and then, apparently for a lark, that happy face by the window. It's not particularly goal-oriented vandalism, now is it?”

  
“Does vandalism have a goal?” Gwen asked, amused.

  
Gwaine smirked. “I was a bit of a rascal in my youth. If a bloke was going to take a can of paint to something, he had a reason. Be it drunken hilarity, artistic or political, whatever his choice, he was consistent. You wouldn't catch an IRA man adding Kilroy to his message just for the hell of it.”

  
“Once I was on an airplane where someone had scratched 'Jesus Loves You' into the window pane. I wondered how Jesus felt about vandalism and defacing transit property,” Freya said. “But, yes, it should have a goal. At least 'Jesus loves you' makes sense, but if the same author had also written 'Sinners burn in hell', 'God forgives all', 'There is no God', 'fags doom nations', 'Judy waz here' and a doodle of a cat in one go, it would be strange, wouldn't it? Was Judy's a message of hope or damnation? Or mocking religion? Is the cat going to hell? Is the cat Judy?”

  
“It's _graffiti_. The thieves were probably high and writing whatever flowed into their heads,” Gwen said.  
Gwaine shook his head. “If that were so, it'd make less sense, wouldn't it? I suppose we could consult one of the anthropologists, but this lot?”

  
Freya trailed a hand as she walked, observing the marks. “It's scatter-shot. Unconnected. And jumbled up. See, if it was one continuous thought flow, like, stream of thought art? It would form a chain of emotion, becoming more intense, the way you see emotions in brush strokes. There should be sharper paint movements, heavier color, as you moved further in, deeper into the emotion of the artist. But there isn't.” Freya went up and down the hall, then into the bedroom, scrutinizing the graffiti, this time not as offensive defacement, but as if she were analyzing an artist piece.

  
Merlin had stopped all he was doing to watch them. It was, actually, quite impressive, and only added evidence to his private suspicions.

  
Freya continued. “Instead, the paint application remains regular, the penmanship loopy and relaxed no matter what. And happy penises are all mixed up with hateful wishes.”

  
Gwaine nodded. “Like someone apein' vandalism, rather than being sincere about it.”

  
Gwen crossed her arms. “So, all this is pretend vandalism?”

  
“Oh no, it's real enough. Going to have to paint over it, after all,” Gwaine said. “I'm saying the vandals were pretend.”

  
“They vandalized something, doesn't that make them vandals, even if the vandalism is insincere? Does the sincerity make them vandals, or the act of vandalizing?” Freya tapped her chin. “That's very philosophical.”

  
Gwen let loose a nervous giggle. “No, Freya, I think what he means is that it's some kind of cover-up.”

  
“They lost the paper-work and the evidence down the nick as well,” Gwaine added.

  
“What's the nick?” Freya asked.

  
“Police station,” Gwaine said, and handed the book back to her.

  
“Merlin?” Gwen looked to him now.

  
Merlin affirmed the theft with a nod.

  
Gwen looked as if she wanted to laugh. “Now you think it's a conspiracy? This sounds like a Schwarzenegger movie from the nineties. Only with fewer musclebound Austrians.”

  
The desire to laugh did not depart Gwen's features until she turned to see Merlin silently slotting papers back into a file folder.

  
“Merlin? Do you believe this?” Gwen asked, her smile dimmed into something concerned as she realized Merlin hadn't said a word, nor was hastening to comment on the picture painted by Gwaine.

  
Merlin shrugged.

  
“You've got a brain, Gwen, do a bit of thinking with it. You mark my word, there's some mad, rich, pharmaceutical company behind this on the government payroll. Never trust the government,” Gwaine said.

  
“You sound paranoid. It's not the government. It's just a break-in. Break-ins happen, it's awful, but it happens,” Gwen still looked torn between being worried and laughing.

  
“Sure, love, sure,” Gwaine said after a moment, then he changed the subject.

  
With the four of them they were able to put the apartment back in relative order in a few hours. Once all the ruined household goods were removed, the apartment looked a little bereft of all the soft touches Gwen had painstakingly put there over the years. Instead it was decorated with profanity. Everything was moved and covered with plastic sheeting for painting.

  
Begrudgingly, the super did put in an appearance with a handyman that afternoon. They repaired the door jam, replaced the lock, and, at Merlin's request, put in a chain lock. For all the good it might do, but it made Merlin feel slightly safer. A date to repaint the apartment was made and Merlin went home again with Gwen.

  
Morgana had since gone home. She'd offered to stay, but they all assured her that she should return to New York for a triumphant reemergence to the public eye, possibly because no one could imagine her being really helpful in the situation. She'd sighed dramatically, but allowed herself to be convinced, and also wheedled into not telling her brother about the burglary just yet.

  
Gwen and Merlin took her to the airport, and saw her off. She landed with a bang, and had been in the center of a media blitz, looking radiant and brave. On the Sunday they had all labored in Merlin's apartment, her interview aired. After cleaning, they returned to Gwen's, and over pizza watched _Local Wonders_. Daegal and Morgana were just as absorbing as they had been in the studio, more so, perhaps, since the camera often went tight on Morgana's face, showing the subtle flutter of emotions she'd allowed to leak through. The interview got tremendous play, with national channels airing small clips of it in their entertainment news. Merlin was proud of Daegal, who himself was in demand to speak on how he'd managed to achieve the interview. The story Daegal told about how it had come about was mostly false, but Daegal made the most of the segments. Only the local paper bothered to call Merlin to see what he thought of having influenced fashion icon Morgana le Fey. They were happy with 'deeply flattered' and 'this shows significance that gender perceptions carry, even to the higher echelons of society'. They quoted him. He sent a copy to his mother, who loved seeing his name in print, especially with 'Dr.' in front of it. She'd called him up to coo, and as it was with mothers, he let the robbery slip. He then spent an hour promising her he didn't need her to come help him, that everything was under control.

  
He also couldn't have borne seeing her read such things written about her son.

  
With Morgana gone, Merlin claimed Gwen's guest bedroom, though he found himself in bed with Gwen some nights, when his mind was clawed through with worry. It was nothing too new, they'd shared a bed before, and Gwen simply snuggled up to him, promising she'd protect him from Lance's raging jealous fury. Lance going berserk was actually very low on Merlin's list of concerns. Merlin wasn't even sure Lance would bother feeling mildly jealous.

  
The week after being allowed back into his apartment was torturous. He'd bought a new laptop, but he was consumed with worry about his old one; the data that was on it and possibly being seen by some stranger. He hated to think of someone reading his personal documents, or what they might do with them. Thinking it was hooligans who'd taken it, who might wipe the laptop and sell it would have been comforting, but even without Gwaine's suspicions, Merlin had his own that just couldn't make that scenario work in his head.  
There were only a few things he hadn't had backed up, so at least there wasn't a full loss, but there were several documents he was going to have to start over from scratch.

  
The police had no information for him, and none of his possessions had been recovered. Not a terrible amount of surprise there.

  
His emotions swayed through jumpy, unhappy and on edge. That, and his PHS seemed to be acting up early and worse than usual. His groin and pectorals were sore and he was anxious and moody, which made all of the tense emotions worse.

  
Then there was Arthur. Merlin had sent four texts and two emails, both telling Arthur not to worry about it, that it wouldn't happen again and that he was sorry. That they could just ignore the accidental intersection of lips, because it was likely brought on by drunkenness. There was not a word in response. Maybe he was busy, and didn't have time to concern himself with groping some unimportant beta. Maybe he'd forgotten it totally, it was so trivial a concern. There was no sign that Arthur had even read the emails, seeing as Merlin had flagged them both so he'd know when they were opened.

  
When Merlin wasn't being maudlin, he recognized that it was more possible that Arthur was in some kind of sexual identity tizzy. From Arthur's perspective, he had kissed a stud and liked it. Merlin knew he did, because as much as his thoughts about being ignored or forgotten mawkishly seethed, it was the best kiss of his life. He'd had plenty of kisses to measure it against, and the 'Shoop Shoop' song had it right; If you wanted to know if he loved you so, it was in his kiss. Well, if not love, then gobs of sexual attraction. So, Arthur had been sexually attracted to a supposed stud, when all his life he'd been photographed with pretty breeders on his arm, or sprawled around his feet.

  
Merlin did allow that might be a bit much, even if Arthur had started it. So, Merlin let it rest. It was for the best.

 

ᴥ

  
During the day, The Dungeon's sign did not glow the neon beacon of electric sex above the street. The sign wasn't any less indicative of the merchandise sold within when not sextreme pink, but Merlin did feel slightly less embarrassed going in. He knew it was a ridiculous reaction, there was nothing wrong with an adult store, or the people that shopped there. But, somehow, knowing what he wanted to purchase inside made him feel under scrutiny. With the way his life was going, he'd find Morgana and his mother inside, and they'd join him on this shopping excursion, fully armed with tips, customer reviews, scientifically accurate descriptions of his anatomy and encyclopedic recitations on things like prostate stimulation.

  
But, the truth of the matter was, his heat was coming. Though he'd been managing it down to a tame level, he still had some needs. Since his vibrator had met an end where its demise had actually been photographed by the police, sans chalk outline, he was in need of a new sexual aide. Maybe he'd have bought a new one anyway, since the memory of Daegal jerking his head toward Merlin's drawer was a bit more vivid than he liked. Maybe it was just time to upgrade.

  
The only person present inside was behind the counter; a brunette femalpha with sad brown eyes. She was wearing a name tag; Kirsty. She looked friendly, and that drew some of his nervousness away, though Merlin thought he might have recognized her for a moment. He hoped she hadn't ever been in one of his classes, as that would just be mortifying.

  
She smiled a welcome at him, but the lack of familiarity in her face and tone was an immediate balm. “Hello, can I help you find anything?”

  
It didn't eradicate the embarrassment, however. Merlin gestured weakly and fumbled his words. “Just, uh, the stuff? Tools? Toys. Yeah. Which are downstairs, right?”

  
“Yes.” She circled out from behind the counter and made for the stairs. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

  
“Well,” Merlin rubbed his chin while they started down the stairs, and again he had the feeling he'd seen her before. He paused and stared at one of the dramatic photographs he'd noted when he was here on the previous occasion.

  
“Is this you?” he blurted abruptly, staring at the pictures. It featured a female body harnessed in ropes which encircled her like lace, pulling her up onto her toes in a room hung with atmospheric chains that sliced the light into long shafts, leaving angular shadows.

  
Kirsty turned on a stair, a few feet lower than him. “Yes, that's me.” She looked fondly at one of the photos nearer to her, which featured herself with legs spread wide, as if caught mid leap by the network of ropes which held her suspended in the air.

  
She pointed. “This one is from Leather Fest, two years ago. Those two were in my husband's studio.”

  
“The man with the head tattoo? Elliot?” Merlin remembered him from the previous trip to the store, when he'd been with Daegal. The scary momega.

  
Kirsty made a sound of assent. “He's my husband and dom.”

  
It wasn't that Merlin wasn't well aware that alphas and omegas could be submissives or dominants in the BDSM world. For a femalpha to be the sub and the momega the dom couldn't be unusual. He'd just never met one, and so natural curiosity overwhelmed propriety. And his embarrassment. It was a little strange, knowing what the shop assistant’s breasts looked like, or her bottom covered in lash marks. What had been erotic art he'd only glanced at before, was now a penetrating look into the private life, emotions and sexuality between two people. It was territory usually known only to the participants, yet here it was, hanging on the wall, like windows into their relationship. A relationship where the socially privileged one surrendered to the marginalized, and they both came away happy.

  
He wanted to understand it.

  
“How does that work between you?” he asked, then blanched. “Sorry, that was really invasive.”

  
Instead of being affronted, Kirsty chuckled. “It's okay. Actually, Elliot and I opened this place partly because we consider ourselves to be explorers in sensation, and we want to help others to discover and own their sensualities.” She headed down the stairs once more. Merlin looked at the pictures as they passed. The last one did feature both of them, Kirsty and Elliot, he in black leather, she bound and kneeling and looking up at him with a besotted expression.

  
“It works really well, actually. We have clear parameters for when we play, and the rules that apply there, don't apply to the rest of our life. Elliot is a great dominant, he knows every item in stock here and how to use it, he can tell the elk floggers from the deer-hide just by looking at them, and he can teach an entire class on kink negotiation, but ask him to get a business license or balance his checkbook and he's lost,” Kirsty said with a laugh.

  
“It sounds like most couples,” Merlin said as they reached the basement.

  
“We are. Only difference is, he sometimes ties me up and beats me, and I like it.”

  
“Sometimes?” Merlin asked.

  
Kirsty nodded. “Yes. Sometimes. Sometimes we just make love and sometimes there are ropes and punishment.”

  
“Doesn't that change how things are outside of sex between you?” Merlin couldn't resist inquiring.

  
Kirsty gave him a look Merlin thought was comparable to the looks he gave students who spouted off some incredibly incorrect factoid as if it were utter truth. Probably it was softer than the ones he gave, actually.

“What you like sexually doesn't have to define your entire life. Just because I like to be dominated sexually sometimes doesn't mean I want to have every aspect of my life mastered. There's a balance, and an art to picking a partner who understands that.”

  
Merlin had a dozen more questions he wanted to ask, wanting to know how that worked, what she wanted as an alpha, how her wants conflicted with it, and his as a momega, and how they found that balance, but as soon as they arrived at the display of toys she gently shifted the topic by asking, “What were you looking to purchase today?”

  
“Just, you know, something,” he said, clearing his throat. “Maybe with a knot?”

  
“For what sexu-gender?”

  
“Momega.”

  
“Okay,” Kirsty took him down to the familiar Heat Helpers display. “Do you know much about knotting toys?”

  
Merlin shook his head. He stared at the packages, avoiding looking at the double ended things, trying to think which one he might actually want anywhere near his body. Nothing hot pink, that was for sure.

  
Kirsty's following question had a gentleness which suggested that Merlin's fret was expressing itself on his face. “Do you want some suggestions?”

  
“Yes. Please. The longer I look at them, the more they all look the same,” Merlin said.

  
Kirsty chuckled and turned to the wall o' sex, regarding the plethora of products. “Is the intended user experienced in taking knots?”

  
“Uh, no, this is a new thing,” Merlin said.

  
Kirsty regarded the packages. “For someone new to knotting ... I'd suggest something like this.” She took down a box labeled The Knotty Rocket, and then opened it, and pulled out the purple phallus. She held it out to Merlin.

  
It wasn't very big, compared to the other monsters on display. The soft matte silicon purple reminded Merlin of the petunias they were forever planting outside the psych building. The molded head was solid, but a few inches in the solid shaft gave way to the collapsed bladder of heavy gauge latex rubber, before resuming.

  
“It's seven and a half inches, with an inch diameter in the shaft, and it's specially curved for prostate stimulation.”

  
As he watched, Kirsty pulled out a little control box with a long cord, which she plugged into the base of the Knotty Rocket. She showed him the controls, which had two buttons and a switch. “You can just use it as a dildo or a vibrator; the buttons turn the vibrations on and off and select a vibration speed. The switch activates the knot.”

  
“How big does it get?” Merlin said, eyeing the pouch. It was one thing to see it collapsed, or even be told a diameter. He needed to see it. Give it context in the real world before pondering if it was something he wanted inside him.

  
Kirsty beckoned him to follow, and they wound through rows of shelves, the contents of which were most intimidating. They really did seem to cater to all kinks in this place.

  
She took them to a long glass display case and counter on the opposite side of the basement, which appeared to hold assorted hand-made or high priced items. In one case were dildos of blown glass, polished steel and carved wood, and a few silicon toys shaped after fantasy animal genitals. In others other were floggers, whips and hand embroidered leather restraints and collars.

  
From behind the counter, Kirsty procured some batteries and loaded up the device. “Here, try it,” she said, drawing Merlin's attention away from the shelves of leather punishment and back to the purple Knotty Rocket he was considering taking home with him.

  
Merlin accepted the toy somewhat awkwardly. Once feeling the weight and the give, he hit a few of the buttons and the creamy buzz of the motor starting up sent the phallus thrumming in his hands. He'd had a vibrator before, this should hardly be a big deal. Still, looking at it lying in his hands so casually made something itchy and flustered claw up from his belly. He did his best to remain professional.

  
“Yeah, that's good,” he said, since it seemed like something was expected. He tried a few of the speeds, some fast, some slow, some irregular. He wasn't too interested in vibration, they were just an added bonus. He shut off the vibrations and, with a glance of permission from Kirsty, he turned his attention to the switch. It had three settings. When Merlin clicked it to the first setting, another sound came from inside the device, and the little pouch began to inflate. It expanded to an oblong shape about the size of a lime, a faint rise over the silicon shaft. That didn't look too big, the size not much larger than the diameter of the shaft. The second setting upgraded it, and the final setting was about the size of a tennis ball, essentially the average size of most fully engorged knots.

  
Merlin swallowed, taking it back to the mid-sized knot. He stared at it, lying there in his grip, so lewd and yet so matter-of-fact. He tried to imagine accepting the vibrating, bulging toy into his body, or feeling it inflate and lock inside him. A little giddy, he tentatively reached out and wrapped his fingers around the expanded knot. It felt like a firm balloon, with some slight give. Probably not what a real knot felt like, not one swollen, hot and throbbing. Slick with precome and his wet, not quite like the real thing, like . . . like Arthur's would be.

  
How big would Arthur's knot be? Size didn't really mean much, of course, but still, Merlin's brain drifted there as he held the toy. His glimpse of Arthur's sex through the Spring Run trousers all those months ago hadn't been clear, and somehow all that speculation came flooding into his mind. His pubic hair would be a darker blond, blurring to golden brown the way it did on his chest and armpits. Merlin was sure it would be very tidy and well maintained, surrounding him. He couldn't help but fashion an image of swollen alpha-ness rising from that fastidious patch. Did Arthur curve left or right? Perhaps toward his own belly? The head would be dark rose, thrust from the foreskin, leaking eager pre-come in such copiousness it rolled down the shaft to the swelling under velvet soft skin. Was his knot a fat, sudden bulge or a sleek gradual intumescence? Would it swell chokingly thick and swift, that eagerness making him knot faster than he ever had before? Oh, what would that be like, to make someone want you so?

  
There was a seed of something, deep in his belly. Excitement. Even as he didn't want to think the thoughts, even so, he knew, in the whirlwind craving of the moment, he _knew_ who this toy would be standing in for. To pretend otherwise would have been a lie far too gross for Merlin to ignore. When the heated arousal swallowed him down, it was going to be Arthur he imagined taking him. Just as he had done for years; in high school and college and after. Only this time he knew Arthur. This time it wasn't some fantasy concocted out of magazine photos and supposition.

  
This time there was a danger of getting burned.

  
He clicked the switch off and the knot began to void itself of air until it lay innocent and empty once more.  
“Yeah, it's – yeah . . . Does it come in red?”

  
She nodded.

  
As Kirsty removed the batteries and repackaged the toy, she explained the cleaning and care instructions, to which Merlin nodded, only partially listening. His mind was on how the false knot felt under his fingers. How it was going to feel inside him. It gave him about half an erection already, which didn't lessen the general embarrassment of the entire event.

  
“Would you like to look at anything else?” Kirsty asked, and her eyes strayed to the floggers Merlin had glanced at.

  
“No! Uh, no,” Merlin hastened to say. “Just, I'll get some lube. I'm not into – I was just impressed, is all.”

  
Though Kirsty had been more than pleasant, Merlin was unreservedly glad when he escaped into his car. He had a new toy, some lube for omegas in heat and some toy cleaner. He had a sense that this heat was going to be a little different. Firstly, he was almost looking forward to it, and that in itself was strange, considering he usually viewed heats as a nuisance to endure. A few days a year he had to put up with, in return for the capacity to give birth. Well, technically he had to put up with a few horrific heated days and admiration and/or disdain from the other half of the populace for an ability to perpetrate the species. An ability without which they'd all go extinct. The irony was bitter.

  
Secondly, the tingle of anticipation was more of curiosity and excitement, rather than expectation. He wanted to know how that toy was going to feel inside him. He wanted the irrational arousal, the potency of it that made things simpler by shutting down all those so rational bits of his mind. Which, in the end, was wanting the heated excuse to imagine whatever he wanted and not feel guilty for it in the morning. He knew it, he tried to feel bad about it, but couldn't quite muster it. He was going into heat. Was it such a crime to want to enjoy it?

 

At least work with Kilgarrah was distracting him from all the thoughts he shouldn't have been having, even if he also found it a little irritating. In between house searching, working, and pretending he hadn't just been obliquely warned off an investigation, it became Merlin's job to interview couples who had responded to the adverts he and Kilgarrah placed, asking for those who believed they had experienced the unumverumconjunx to participate in a series of experiments. This was a bigger job than anticipated, as it seemed the offer of monetary compensation so close to the holidays brought, in addition to legitimate candidates, persons who would try for a willful deception, some of them more convincingly than others.

  
Still, there was something about sitting opposite what he believed were legitimate couples. There were only a few, but they radiated something sharp and intuitive and undeniable. There were a number of strong, happy couples, a lot of very nice people, but there was a difference between simply being a loving, strong couple and being truemates.

  
Questions were first, interviewing people swearing up and down they were perfect, destined, finished each other sentences and was that check or cash. However, it wasn't the people that had perfect stories of romantic whirlwinds who gave Merlin the greatest buzz. The plethora of meet-cutes and I-Just-Knew-I-Was-Going-To-Marry-Hers were sweet, but hardly indicative of something more. Those few couples who felt right had tales of less external adversity, more internal, and were much less likely to be overly demonstrative.  
Like the couple currently sitting across from him.

  
“And what was the courting process like?” Merlin asked.

  
The momega made an amused sound. The femalpha beside him sent her husband a steely look. “Something funny?”

  
The momega, John Sun-Crichton, held up his hands. According to his paperwork he was an astronaut, working with the space program. His wife, Captain Aeryn Sun-Crichton, was pure military, even in her pristine civilian attire. John, by contrast, was relaxed in a pair of jeans.

  
“No, it was fine. Great,” John said, then grinned at Merlin. “I thought she was a hard-ass.”

  
“Our initial contacts were through telephone and email,” Aeryn said. “We did not meet in person until later.”

  
“What she means is that she thought I was a weak, emotional egghead,” John added.

  
“And then you met in person?” Merlin said.

  
Aeryn shifted somewhat. “There was an attraction. I attempted to resist him. I was not interested in mating or breeding. Our jobs, however, required us to work closely together on a joint project.”

  
Merlin glanced at John, who lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I knew I wanted to go to bed with her, but, when you're around someone more, you start to see them. She got under my skin, and I could see she was more than just a soldier. I didn't want it to be just a physical thing, I wanted it to matter. She took some convincing.”

  
When Merlin watched closely, he saw Captain Sun-Crichton's lip quirk in an abortive smile. Something about them was different. Just looking at the two of them, Merlin knew their life wasn't easy. Aeryn was rigid, plainly not good with emotions, regal and probably quite skilled in tactics. John was of the fluid jokey kind of brilliance, his heart open.

  
When Merlin collated results with Kilgarrah, he added the Sun-Crichtons to the short list of likely candidates, along with Melinda Gordon and Jim Clancy, Rose and Jack Dawson, and previous interviewee Esca MacCunoval and his mate, Marcus Aquila.

  
There was something those couples had that the others did not. They weren't the most agreeable, but there was something profound simmering between them. That, and their written questionnaires matched the sought parameters and they confessed to feeling more than simple awareness of their partner. Esca MacCunoval knew when his mate was in combat without Marcus breathing a word. Aeryn Sun-Crichton knew when her husband was flying, even if it wasn't scheduled, and the Dawson's didn't even need to talk sometimes.

  
Merlin did his best not to wonder if this was what everyone saw when he and Arthur were in the same room. He wasn't thinking about any of it, he was just trying to get through the year. Still, it made him sad. He didn't let it show, but it was there. While he searched for an apartment and planned to break Arthur's heart, he saw all these happy people making their differences work. It ate at him. He crawled into bed with Gwen at night and wondered if he was wrong, wondered if he was right. Wondered if it was something in-between, and if there was anything to be done about that.

  
Staying with Gwen had its comforts, but it was, fundamentally, Gwen's place. It smelled of Lance, and his traces of Arthur's scentmarking. Merlin's response to the smell varied widely; sometimes he found it lulling and other times it made him jumpy. He knew he was a little over-wrought, even if he didn't like to admit it. Tired, snappish, uncomfortable, with no place of his own and living under the pressure of Arthur, Merlin was fraying around the edges.

 

 

The last straw was Alice.

  
She hadn't meant it, of course. No, she came to office hours crying softly, knowing she could rely on Merlin, knowing he would counsel her. And he would and did.

  
Merlin coaxed her to sit, gave her a tissue, and let her weep until she could tell him.

  
It seemed that Bella Swann was deemed healthy enough to undergo Psychdikho. Normally, it was an outpatient procedure, as all it took was an IV of the chemical agent which eradicated the bonded Andophrengen Q cells from a body, thus breaking the connection. The after effects tended to be emotional, and most people preferred the privacy of their homes to recover, as it could be devastating.

  
Bella had wanted to be free of the bond before Christmas.

  
Alice had been allowed in one of the designated rooms for pack and conjugal visits to be with Edward while the bond broke, as it was likely to be unpleasant for him since he did not want it broken. Ms. Gurira had tried several legal maneuvers to stave off the bond breaking, but all had failed.

  
In a wavering tone Alice told Merlin how she'd held Edward on the itchy couch, how he'd quaked and wailed, and begged the universe not to free him. For hours he wrestled in that in-between space, until calming.  
The bond had not broken. It stood immune to the medication.

  
Bella Swann had been hospitalized. The pain and illness of the ineffectual bond-breaker paired with the distress of Edward Cullen in her head, followed by the dread that he would always be there, sent her into a tailspin.

  
Bond-breakers were severe; they had to be to prompt psychdikho. Their process could be painful, but they nearly always dissolved bonds. Some very strong bonds could endure, but the bond between Bella and Edward was not strong. It was forced, and Merlin had never heard of a bond one side wanted well rid of enduring despite the debonders.

  
Something about that news made a warning sound in Merlin's head. That this should have anything to do with that pill should be impossible, shouldn't it? Edward had taken it, and not Bella. Was he seeing conspiracies, as Gwen had said? Was he being over dramatic, as the police had implied?

  
Then again, it was Edward's oxyarmonin which had bonded to Bella's Andophrengen Q cells in the weddiablod. She had some little part of Edward Cullen floating around inside her, cells which had been affected by a medication that existed only in rumor, now. A medication no one knew the intended purpose of.

  
The idea of it made him ill. Made him afraid, even more afraid than the break-in had. He'd already decided that maybe it was better if he kept his nose out of whatever this was. He was a professor, not a private investigator, not someone who'd gone into a career where the thrill of danger rode shotgun. He didn't want to risk life and limb, or safety and security.

  
He wasn't ignoring the problem or burying his head in the sand either. He'd made his reports to the police, told them all he'd discovered. He'd gone above and beyond his civic duty, hadn't he? What else could be asked of him?

  
He'd done what he could to comfort Alice, but was left feeling fractured, with no safe den of his own to crawl back into. Gwen's was as close as it got, so he went there, tried to pull his head on straight, tried to stop feeling and rationalizing and worrying.

  
Gwen found him in the midst of doing all three. She wrapped her arms around him, rocked him and promised things would get better.

  
He didn't really believe it.

  
ᴥ

  
 _Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

  
_Subject: Wick, Daisy_

  
_Sexugender/Physiogender: momega, female_

  
_Orientation: heterosexual_

  
_Marital Status: Single/Unbonded._

_Actually, the practice of masking sexugender scent is not a totally new thing. Certain South American tribes would achieve this by making a paste of fungus, herbs, beetles and urine. When they painted it on, they all smelled the same. They wore it when petitioning entrance into another tribe so they were selected by the merits and talents they offered. I don't see how the world has changed that much; merit outweighs the physical._

  
ᴥ

  
Staying connected with Anna was a priority Arthur didn't intend to let slip by the wayside. It might have been easy to assume a distant sort of association, exchange cards and gifts, and yet keep each other at arm's length. That was something Arthur didn't want. They might not have come to a full agreement about all the matters of their past as yet, and there was a labyrinthine minefield of family dynamics if there ever was one, but Arthur had always thought of Anna as his sister. Whether that turned out to be genetically true or not, Arthur was determined not to let her drift away. He'd come to peace with what he learned of the particulars of the past, but he didn't want a facsimile of a relationship with her. As antagonistic as they were, Morgana's brand of barbed love was not something he wished to surrender, now he had a chance of reclaiming it.

  
After their second confrontation, Anna extended to him her cell phone number, and even answered when he called. Sure, sometimes she only said 'I'm busy' and hung up on him, but Arthur counted the courtesy of her answering instead of just letting him go to message as a significant victory.

  
He'd been determinedly busy lately, focusing only on work in preparation for this meeting, but he made a point to call her on his drive upstate the day before Thanksgiving. He commanded the car to make the call, hands free. She answered, terse at first, as she always was, but gentling as they talked about her return to the public eye, Arthur's work and what exactly it was like in a homeless shelter that may or may not have smelled of feet.

  
“I saw your interview. It seems to be getting a lot of play,” Arthur said after they had chatted into an amiable mode. It wasn't yet completely comfortable, but Arthur could be patient. “I think father saw it as well.”

  
“Did he? I hope he choked on his tongue.” Anna sounded mildly uninterested. Arthur couldn't tell if it was forced or not.

  
“That's not nice, Morgana.” Arthur was pleased he remembered her new name. He still thought of her as Anna. He might always do, so he had to guard his mouth against such slips. The name seemed to have a particular significance for her, a symbol of her rebirth. While he thought it more than a little ridiculous, (Morgana the fairy? Really?) it mattered to her, and a great deal. Now was not the time to prod at things Morgana valued. He was learning a lot about perspectives lately, and not just from her, from –

  
_Don't think about Merlin._

  
“I'm not a nice person,” Morgana said. “Neither are you, come to think of it.”

  
They both knew where he was headed, both knew what kind of conversation the holiday was likely to entail for Arthur, but he wasn't willing to bring it up directly. His gentle probing towards discussing Uther had been firmly routed, so Arthur decided to leave it alone.

  
“You looked good. Your genitals seem to be a hot topic for a lot of people,” Arthur said.

  
“Yes, and I've lost four contracts,” Anna said, and there was bitterness sneaking into the tone. Not that he could blame her. He'd been paying more attention to the news and editorials about her than he'd ever invested in the ones aimed at him. He read and listened to what the public was saying, the business world, anyone who had an opinion, which seemed like everyone. Some of it made him positively irate, such as the preachy minister, or the gender rights activist who called Anna a gender traitor for perpetrating a public lie. He'd hurled his coffee mug at the television at that. But, seeing as he wasn't at liberty to inform the world at large she was his sister by defending her, Arthur had vented impotent anger on some road rage and his secretary, George. Which had been a mistake, seeing as George got petty revenge by ordering him a kale salad for lunch and then giving him the innocent 'is it not to Sir's taste?' thing when Arthur balked at the rabbit food.

  
In consequence, he also saw a lot more of that Daegal guy than he strictly wanted to. Not that he was surprised Merlin had cooked up that little deal to benefit his boyfriend. The week after the interview, Arthur saw Daegal appear on a number of talk shows himself. He comported himself respectably, and Arthur did give the guy credit where it was due, he was reasonably good at his job. However, the amount of play he got for himself felt uncomfortably to Arthur as if Morgana and Merlin had been taken advantage of. Though aside from that, there was just something about Daegal that made Arthur want to punch him, and Arthur had strict rules about punching omegas. Namely, it was never okay. Omegas should be treated with care, his father had always been clear about that.

  
“How many jobs have you gained?” Arthur countered. He knew how these things worked. As many people who dropped her, there would be others clamoring for the increased publicity her presence would give them, the pats on the back from liberal media outlets.

  
“Besides the ones wanting to know if I'd be naked?” Morgana asked, and he could almost see her brow winging up.

  
“If you accept any of those, let me know. I'd rather not see any more of you than I already have,” Arthur said dryly.

  
“Arthur, I thought you lived solely for spread beaver shots. Well, until recently.”

  
There was some taunting in there Arthur decided he didn't want to unearth if it required thinking about his sister and spread beavers in the same thought pattern. Even if she wasn't his biological family, she was still his sister, and there were some things that did not need to darken his mind's eye.

  
“Be serious. You must have gotten something out of it,” Arthur probed.

  
“You'll just have to wait and see, won't you? I might have one or two irons in the fire. We'll see what I make of them. Now, I have got to go. Enjoy yourself with the potatoes and poultry.”

  
They said their goodbyes, and disconnected. Arthur felt pleased with the duration of the talk. With hope, whatever happened this weekend, he could maintain this bridge of connection.

  
He put his mind briefly on the business he was leaving undone behind him as he drove. Then he turned his mind forward, on the business he had to successfully report to his father, and how he was going to broach the sensitive topics he had questions about. He'd been going backwards and forwards on it, strategized with the same ruthless efficiency he imagined battles were planned. Battles upon which the fate of an entire nation rested.

  
He arrived at Pendragon Manor with mid-afternoon filtering long streams of sunlight through the trees flanking the long driveway. The old trees had turned their familiar flame-red and gold in an autumnal welcome, as they did every year.

  
There was still scaffolding up over the east wing of Pendragon Manor, finishing the last leg of a lengthy cleaning and restoration of the facade. It was long overdue, and the house looked lovelier than it had in years. Arthur admired it as he cruised up the drive. It gave him a moment of pride, a smile. It was going to be beautiful when it was all finished; the restoration, the additions, and the stables. Pendragon Manor was already the grandest of all its neighbors, but when Arthur was done, he hoped it would be one of the most magnificent homes on the Eastern seaboard. He had plans, plans which involved stained glass, master carpenters, painters, imported marble, sculptors, masonry experts and metalsmiths.  
Even Merlin would have to admit how glorious the place would be.

  
Abruptly, Arthur discontinued that little thought, even as it slipped into his mind, cunning and swift, as most thoughts about Merlin were. This weekend Arthur didn't need the distraction of Merlin and his soft, droll mouth, or his deep, blue eyes that met and challenged Arthur's, or the way he had gone all soft and giving when he'd been in Arthur's lap.

  
No.

  
Don't think about Merlin.

  
He didn't know why he was so hung up on the beta, as he certainly wasn't gay. He was very straight, thank you. It was just some aberrant hiccup, because he found Merlin so fascinating and aggravating. Some craving the near-yet-far of his omega. It had simply confused him into thinking Merlin was attractive, that Merlin could slip into that role. It wasn't that he actually wanted a beta. He forbade himself from thinking about him, even the most basic considerations of how he was since that misguided moment on the couch. He hadn't even opened the text messages Merlin had sent. If he had, he would have been sure to answer them, and this foolishness with Merlin needed to be stopped. He'd indulged himself entirely too long with thoughts of Merlin. With, well, fantasies. Little scenarios about being domestic with Merlin which were, when Arthur realized he was having them, terrifying and ridiculous. He was not gay.

  
Until Arthur could trust himself to behave nothing more than cordially to Merlin, it was best to keep the lines of communication severed. Even if it bruised their friendship. Arthur needed to keep his head on straight, and that did not include Merlin and his ears.

  
Besides, he needed to put his mind to the task ahead.

  
Arthur parked in the garage, and pulled his overnight bag and briefcase from the trunk and headed inside.

  
Knight was there to open the door, to take Arthur's bag and relieve him of his coat, as he had been for the last ten years or so. Ever since Arthur had left home, Uther dispensed use of a housekeeper in exchange for an aloof butler to tend the household needs.

  
“Hello, Knight.” Arthur said.

  
“Good Afternoon, Mr. Pendragon.”

  
That was another thing Merlin would have a fit about; the formality in the Pendragon household. Considering Knight had probably seen both him and his father in embarrassing situations, (there was one humiliating episode when Knight walked in on Arthur working out a rut with an extremely buxom girl some years ago) what the hell were they standing on ceremony for? What would be so wrong with coming home and being called Arthur. What exactly?

  
Don't think about Merlin.

  
“Is my father here?” Arthur asked.

  
“Mr. Pendragon is in his study,” Knight reported, then spirited away Arthur's overnight bag. Arthur knew from experience that his hasty packing job would have left his clothes in an untidy state Knight would be unable to bear. He would unpack, press and place all of Arthur's things in his room.

  
Arthur went upstairs, and though he intended to go directly to his father, he abruptly changed his mind and course down the corridor to his childhood room. En route he lingered before what had been Anna's room. He tried the door, but it was locked, as it had been for years. How many times had this door slammed in temper? He'd lost count. Now it stood silent, all the memories and talismans of Anna's memory locked behind it. Like his mother's work room, where she'd made jewelry, and her boudoir beside the master bedroom. Arthur had a misty memory of it; powder blue frills on the vanity, bright lights that shone off of a witch's counter of beautifying potions and his mother, laughing in a silky robe drawing him in to the smell of perfume and a hug. It was such a hazy memory Arthur wasn't sure if it really was something he remembered or if it were something he'd seen in a movie, and pasted it behind the door to manufacture a memory of Igraine.

  
Uther would be alpha here for a long time yet, but when Arthur was grand alpha, he was going to open all those doors. He would let out the grief from where it had been locked up, as if hiding it away would make it not so.

  
In his own room, replete with framed autographed pictures of his sport and musical idols and his collection of trophies, Arthur pulled out his phone and hit speed dial.

  
“le Gros,” Percy answered promptly.

  
“Percy, it's me.”

  
“Arthur.”

  
“Any update?”

  
There was a rattle from the other end, and the squeak Arthur knew was Percy's office chair. “I've gone through the list of those holding a private investigator's license for the time period in question, both here and in D.C. I assume Uther would pick someone close to home. I'm chasing up my top picks, but if they worked for Uther, they're probably going to be pretty close-mouthed.”

  
And didn't Arthur know it. “Double the incentive, if you have to.” Nothing opened up a stubborn craw like dollar signs. “Who's your favorite?”

  
“Guy called Cedric Cegan. He works for high profile clients, digging up all kinds of dirt, divorce cases, leverage, vice-hound. He's reckoned to be the best.”

  
“Father would want the best,” Arthur agreed.

  
“He's on a job, according to his secretary. It's making him a little difficult to contact. I haven't found a financial connection between them, but Pendragon records are dense. If he wasn't paid in cash, there are a hundred ways to bury his fee in all the business transactions.”

  
Yes, Arthur realized. His very cautious father had an entire team of people dealing with his money, and he knew there were a few rogue accounts. If Uther didn't want something to be found, Arthur doubted it would be. He still needed to know, though. Had his father lied to him? Had he let Anna go? Let her be homeless rather than raise her and love her as he should?

  
“What about the lab results?” Arthur asked softly, referring to the hair and saliva samples he'd sent off, both his and Morgana's, though Morgana had unwittingly provided hers from her hairbrush and a used tissue Arthur had fished out of a trash can. Not one of his finer moments.

  
Percy sounded apologetic. “Nothing yet.”

  
“And the hotel?” Arthur tried, but he knew if Percy hadn't led with a discovery of his phantom omega he probably didn't have anything there, either.

  
“I might have something shaking loose there, I've got a friend on it. I'll know in a day or two,” Percy said. Cracking the UA had turned out to be a hell of a lot harder than Arthur thought. Still, the merest chance of it had his heart fluttering.

  
Arthur thanked Percy and disconnected.

  
Even though he was no more armed than he'd been ten minutes ago, Arthur prepared to go see his father. He was nervous in the pit of his belly, despite all logic. All that was going to happen was that he was going to discover it was all a misunderstanding. Uther and Anna had always had disagreements. Was it any surprise they'd clashed so vehemently over this? That each was entrenched in their own version of how the events unfolded? It could be said they were just alike, in that way.

  
He stopped into the bathroom to check himself over first, making sure his suit was unwrinkled. When he was satisfied he looked precise enough to enter a boardroom unperturbed, he removed some folders from his briefcase and headed for the corridor, lined with paintings, to the door of his father's study. As a child, that same walk had been a herald of either great privilege or, more commonly, great trouble.

  
He paused outside the heavy door and took a breath. Then he knocked. “Father. May I enter?”

  
“Enter, Arthur,” came his father's voice, and then it dropped off to a low thrum.

  
When Arthur opened the door his father was talking on his cell-phone. Standing behind the great mahogany desk and looking at the gardens below, his silhouette was imposing before the gray-bright light. Uther chatted, the tone genial yet also formal, a familiar mix Uther used when he was talking with someone who was more business associate than buddy, but whose good will he wanted to continue to engender.

  
Arthur slid into one of the leather chairs under the scrutiny of the desk and waited quietly while Uther talked about a particular committee.

  
His eyes ventured to the portrait of Igraine Pendragon. It was uncovered, the little curtain which often shielded it from unwelcome eyes drawn back so his mother beamed down at him, swathed in white silk and the Pendragon rubies.

  
It was an exceedingly good likeness of a softly smiling woman who had been dead for almost thirty years, but who had shaped Arthur's life significantly.

  
Was it wrong to want what his mother and father had known? To love so completely? They'd known at once how they felt, and each complemented the other splendidly. When loosened by a few drinks and feeling sentimental, his father was fond of relating to Arthur the amusing tale of Igraine bringing a note of endorsement from her stock-broker father when she applied for a loan to try and get her fine jewelry business off the ground.

  
'Completely nonsensical,' Uther would say, but his eyes would be shining with affection. Then he'd invariably add 'She was everything I needed; soft where I was hard, wise where I was rash, silly where I was sensible. God, I miss her'.

  
Someone who completed you so totally that their absence was a form of mutilation probably didn't seem like something most people aspired to. Even if Arthur's wish resulted in the same loss as his father's, as Mithian's, he still wanted it. Better to have loved and lost, they all said. He wanted to know what it was, to know love like that. Be burned through with it, to feel the indelible imprint upon his soul, to know, no matter his successes or failings there would be warm arms there to enclose him, and someone who would see _him_. Not his name or his legacy, his income or even his looks.

  
His father had always viewed Arthur's hunt for his truemate with a minor chord of impatience, even though he himself had loved so well. Arthur knew it interceded with the plans Uther had for him, plans Uther had made for Arthur's advancement. Arthur had been so close to giving up, to letting his father marry him to the most advantageous match, someone who would have helped pave the path to the White House, were Uther given the chance. If not for a well timed trip down an elevator, by now he might have been married already, and might have let Uther talk him to running for some kind of state office.

  
Privately, Arthur liked to believe that his mother would have supported him wholly. She would have encouraged him, listened to his frustrations and, now that he was so close, she would have been excited, planning a wedding, and for grandchildren.

  
What would she have thought of his current predicament?

  
She'd have liked Merlin, of that Arthur felt sure. Igraine Pendragon had been the artistic antithesis to her businesszer husband, and, when Merlin wasn't being a know-it-all little shit, he was fairly charming. He'd managed to charm Anna, so charming Igraine would have been child's play. Not that Merlin was at all aware when he was doing it.

  
His father would dislike Merlin at once of course, but then, Uther hated most academics, or people who disagreed with him to his face. Merlin had one in the bag already, and if Arthur's experience was anything to go by, would nail the other one soon after meeting his father.

  
Don't think about Merlin.

  
His mother would like his mate, too. She'd be thrilled. She'd have designed an exquisite engagement ring, since her own would have been on her finger, instead of in a velvet box in Arthur's sock drawer, awaiting a proposal. Yes, she'd have made something perfect and then she'd bully him about proposing the right way with lots of flair and –

  
“Arthur?”

  
His father startled Arthur's attention away from the portrait. He found Uther had finished his phone call, and had eased into the big chair behind the desk.

  
“Alpha.” He ducked his head in greeting.

  
“You're here early. I wasn't expecting you until this evening,” Uther said calmly, shuffling some papers on his desk. “Can you afford to take the time away? Patel tells me you've been taking weekends off. You know we've had a slack year, Arthur, this is not a time to be working less.”

  
It was true, Arthur had not been putting in the hours he should have been. He felt a wedge of guilt at his dereliction of duty shove into his chest. He resolved to work harder. “I know, but I have brought you some good news.”

  
The fruit of Arthur's surge into work just this last week was substantial. He'd done nothing but, ignoring Merlin's texts, and not touching his personal email lest he be tempted to be distracted. One by one Arthur went through the files, handing them to his father. He'd managed to woo Miles Dyson from Cyberdine Systems over to the ADC's robotics division, the meetings he'd had with specific state's congressional members to engender goodwill had turned out better than expected, and the environmental impact reports cleared them to begin building an industrial facility in South America, after months of lobbying foreign officials.

  
Uther nodded, asked questions and poured over the documents. In the end he was left smiling.

  
“Good work, Arthur,” he said, and it blossomed something warm and happy in Arthur's chest. Uther leaned back, steepling his fingers, and the contented look on his face was something Arthur was loath to wipe away. That, and the heat of the praise still buoying him.

  
“I want to get to the shelter a little early tomorrow, the car will be ready at eleven,” Uther said.

  
Arthur nodded, smiling softly himself. He looked up when his father said his name once more and found Uther giving him a speculative look.

  
“Yes, father?”

  
“What have you been doing away so much?”

  
Arthur paused before answering. “Lance has met a woman, a doctor. She lives down by Albion, and I've been down to meet her.” It wasn't an excuse, per se, but it might help his father understand.

  
Uther quirked a brow. “Is it serious?”

  
“I think so.” Arthur couldn't help a small smile in thinking about Lance and Gwen, and how well they suited one another. Despite the difficulties they had inadvertently brought him in the shape of a shaggy haired professor with stupid ears, Arthur was happy for them.

  
“Have you had her thoroughly investigated?” Uther asked, his tone light.

  
The casualness gave Arthur pause. He had, in fact, once he'd become aware that Lance was still in contact with Gwen after Spring Run. The standard background check Percy completed had come back spotless, so Arthur had seen no reason to interfere with their fling. That week at Freya's lake-house had solidified how very much more it was than a mere fling, and Arthur had been glad he'd already checked Gwen out. Parting Lance from her after the level of attachment they exhibited would have been difficult indeed.

  
“What hospital is she with?” Uther asked without looking up.

  
“She doesn't work in a hospital. She runs her own practice and lectures at Albion,” Arthur said.

  
His father looked at him a moment. He'd probably been expecting a thoracic surgeon.

  
“She's really lovely,” Arthur added.

  
“Lovely she may be, but we don't want to associate our pack with trash. The smell tends to stick.” Uther's eyes dropped back to the folders, plucking up his gold pen to make a note. “I take it that despite this increased presence in Albion you haven't been to see Olaf?”

  
Considering Vivian had slipped into his bed the last time he endured the Thorpes' hospitality, and Olaf threatened to cut his balls off if he touched her, Arthur didn't find their company as pleasurable as his father did.

  
“No, father. I have not. I will rectify that as soon as I can.”

  
“See that you do. It is paramount we continue to keep strong ties with him and the university.”

  
Well. That was one date Arthur wasn't getting out of, but he nodded resolutely. The lack of foresight on his part had dimmed his father's pleasure in him somewhat. With the glow lost, Arthur plunged ahead.

  
“Father, Alpha ... there is something I wish to discuss with you,” Arthur said. On impulse he sought to curry favor with his alpha. He rose from his chair and knelt in the old fashioned kneeling position, one knee against the thick carpet, the other up, his fists tucked into the small of his back as he bent forward.

  
He could sense more than see that he had his father's full attention, even though he heard the faint rattle of papers.

  
“Has that omega of yours ceased to elude you?” Uther asked.

  
That was unexpected. Arthur closed his eyes. “No.”

  
“It's an omega, Arthur. I fail to understand how zer could continue to confound you.” Arthur heard the gusty thwap of the folders being tossed on the desk. “Are you still taking the potalephamine?”

  
“Yes.” For a moment he almost continued, but instead he changed direction mid-sentence. “Alpha, I wish to speak about Morgana.”

  
He wanted to look up, to see his father's reaction, but he dared not lift his head from the deferential position without being given leave to do so.

  
“I don't know anyone by that name.” His father's voice was rigid, a fringe of warning along the word.  
“Anna, Alpha,” Arthur said.

  
Arthur heard the shushing sound of papers being swept together, the grind of the chair as his father shifted his weight. “And what do you wish to say on the matter?”

  
“I've seen her. I've talked with her,” Arthur confessed softly.

  
His father said nothing. Arthur heard him get up, could just see his expensive Italian leather shoes as he went to one of the file cabinets. Then came the rolling rumble of one of the drawers opening, the scrape of plastic folder hooks against the metal they were suspended from. When Arthur inhaled, he could just catch the scent of Uther's contained ire, under wood cleaner and ink. Uther returned to his chair, but said nothing further.

  
“I wish to respectfully ask about the events which lead to Anna departing,” Arthur continued after a moment.

Again, he waited.

  
Then, suddenly, Uther sighed heavily. “I knew she would only resist for so long,” he said it with a weariness that surprised Arthur, who had been expecting the simmering anger to boil over.

  
“Rise, and sit, demiling,” Uther invited, and while Arthur did so, his father went to pour them tumblers of scotch from the cut crystal decanter in a specially appointed alcove.

  
Uther handed him the glass, and sat slowly. He sipped, and when Arthur had done the same, Uther began. “I take it her tale was sufficiently shocking.”

  
Arthur nodded.

  
“You must remember, Arthur, Anna was unwell. And still is, if her readiness to assault journalists is any indication. You have seen the news, I expect.”

  
“She's a theta,” Arthur said, watching his father.

  
“And you'll know that they suffer from violent tendencies and assorted imbalances that can make them unpredictable.”

  
Wasn't that something he'd heard a lot? That thetas were more likely, due to their conflicting biology, to be affected by chemical imbalances which or may or may not get recognized and treated? After all, Dahmer had been a theta. But it seemed Uther had known all along. Perhaps some part of him hoped his father would have been as surprised as he was to discover Morgana was a theta.

  
“Why didn't I know?” Arthur asked.

  
Uther's smile, when it came, was thin and soft. “She asked me not to tell. In fact, she kept it a secret for quite a long time, she was so ashamed of it. Do you remember that year, before you went to boarding school? She was wild, refused to be guided or helped.”

  
Arthur did remember that year. The screaming fights, many over trivial matters. When he awoke each day there was no way of knowing if Anna would smile her razor-blade grin and make a joke at Arthur's expense, or if she would rage at him for ten minutes because he took the last banana. It had been exhausting living with a powder keg. In some ways, boarding school had been a relief; he no longer had to walk on eggshells. Anna had been difficult and willful, and not the kind that fecundists applauded in movies where some breeder in a corset overcame her mean old uncle who was stealing her money. The kind that ended in police stations and assault charges and getting reamed over fruit.

  
“I tried to have Gaius smooth the transition, to see what the doctors could do to help, but she refused to take the medications. Whatever other drugs she was taking were making her paranoid. She didn't trust us, not Gaius, myself, or even you.”

  
“Drugs,” Arthur repeated. Anna hadn't mentioned drugs, but then, she'd hardly lead with a cocaine addiction while trying to gain his sympathy. The high fashion world had its vices, he'd be naive not to acknowledge that.

  
Uther nodded. “Yes. Or it was drink – the second arrest she was quite intoxicated. In either case, such perception altering substances atop her medical condition were disastrous on her young system.”

  
That was true, too. She did drink. He knew she'd stolen from the liquor cabinets, because he'd lifted a bottle or two before he was old enough to buy his own. And then there were parties where other kids had parents with well stocked wet bars, because they all came from wealthy homes and Anna made it a point not to be in her own home.

  
Arthur was starting to feel uncomfortable, but they were true points. Weren't both parties allowed to give evidence?

  
But then, did that make him judge?

  
He had no right to be sitting in judgment of his alpha. No right at all.

  
But, he needed to ask. So, he asked the biggest question which had sat in his gut like a spike-covered brick. “Alpha, Anna claims you attempted to alter her gender.”

  
His father looked a little shocked. “What?”

  
“She claims you were going to have her surgically altered, to make her more omega,” Arthur said, gripping his glass, despite not wanting to appear nervous.

  
Uther swallowed down the rest of his drink. “Then she still is quite delusional. I recommend cutting contact with her at once, Arthur. She is not a safe person to know.”

  
Arthur stared at his father, behind his desk, looking so quietly rueful.

  
He wanted to believe this version. So badly he wanted to believe his father utterly, but something nagged in the back of his mind, and Arthur wondered if the truth lay somewhere in between. He wondered if these two would ever allow anyone else's interpretation but their own.

  
“She is lying,” Arthur posed, neither a question or a statement, but somewhere in between. He watched his father closely.

  
“Anna was very ill, Arthur. It was a difficult time. I don't wish to drag up the details.”

  
Arthur knew his father well enough to know that an enemy well-beaten and powerless received scorn, if only behind closed doors. Doors Arthur had been behind to know what kinds of things were said, when Uther had defeated someone utterly, when they had no recourse and he held all the cards.

  
Something there, then. But what? The pain of Anna's loss? It wouldn't be hard to believe, considering the landscape of his father's life was written by conquering and Anna had not been defeated. Anna, who abandoned her pack, and had not been consumed by the wild. Who had flourished.

  
But Arthur pressed. He didn't want to, his father had made his signal the talk was over, and yet Arthur couldn't let it just lie there like a stone. His Alpha hadn't answered the question, he'd danced around it.

“Alpha. Did you try and change her?”

  
“Whom do you believe, demiling?” The tone almost sounded casual, if you were foolish.

  
It stopped Arthur. Who did he believe? Could he honestly believe his father, Uther Pendragon, who stood for pack above all things, who fought in the Senate every day to make the world better, safer, could he truly believe he would do the things Anna claimed to his own flesh and blood, his own daughter? No. No, never.

  
“You, Alpha,” but even Arthur heard the hesitation in his voice.

  
“I don't fight for belief, demiling. To be in my pack is to trust I will always do the best for those in my care. To imply otherwise is an insult I will not stand for.” Clearly Uther had heard his flutter of indecision, seconds though it had been, for the Grand Alpha's voice had grown icy as a northern gale.

  
For a moment Arthur was frozen by it.

  
“But – ”

  
“Leave me.”

  
Arthur was so accustomed to following Uther's commands he had already risen, put the tumbler back and was making his way to the door before he'd properly thought about it.

  
Then he did think, and it was about Merlin. Arthur remembered what Merlin had said about having a Grand Alpha on high, unquestioned. Arthur remembered it vividly, Merlin moving around the kitchen, not even pausing while they discussed the matter. Arthur had asked later in an email about why it was Merlin didn't want an unquestioned alpha for security. Not having to worry, wasn't that a relief? He tried to make it sound causal, but he did want to know the answer to it. Most everyone he was well acquainted with was, some way or another, in a pack with an alpha atop it. It wasn’t that Merlin was the only one without, but he was one of the rare ones Arthur knew well. And he remembered Merlin's answer.

  
_I like to ask my own questions and get my own answers. Only sheep don't bother to do either._

  
Arthur could imagine Merlin saying those words, could hear them echoing around his head. He also remembered how annoyed it had made him, the subtle implication that he was obedient and dim as a sheep.  
And yet, what was he doing now?

  
He wasn't questioning his father's decisions, his wisdom, his power. He'd only asked for an account of the past, and what was wrong with that? Arthur had been stricken with years of boredom in a classroom because someone thought history was important enough to cram into his head for fourteen years. And he wasn't asking about some moldy warlords or trade tariffs, he was talking about family history, the past which touched all three of them. Why was that territory forbidden? Why was it wrong to question it?

  
But he had also been raised not to press, and the old threads of respect held fast. If his father and alpha would not tell him, he must have good reason.

  
One thing niggled.

  
“Father,” the door was cool and slick under Arthur's fingers, and heavier than when he'd opened it not an hour earlier. He turned too look at his father, resplendent behind the massive desk, spurned on by Merlin and Anna and a need to know the truth, and know his father could speak it.

  
He caught his father's gaze, and stood strong under it. “Is Anna my sister?”

  
He saw the question pierce Uther, the impact of it ripple across his chest and shoulders. Before Uther could recover to give his answer Arthur added, “I can do a DNA test.”

  
Uther closed his eyes.

  
“After your mother died, I was hurt. Alone. Vivienne . . . was a great comfort to me.”

  
Arthur grit his teeth. Another crafty evasion, the kind of thing his father often used when dealing with the press, or anyone he didn't want to give a straight answer to. Instead, he gave a comment full of implications but no affirmative statements.

  
And something about his father using such tactics on Arthur stung, especially since he could and would discover the truth. Why couldn't he just say it? Why the allusion? “I'm not a constituent, father. You can't preserve my vote with an unclear statement. Is it yes or no? Is Anna my biological sister?”

  
The boldness of his tone made Uther frown darkly. He stood in a rush, casting a long shadow over the desk and Arthur as his tall frame blocked the light. “You have no right to question me, demiling.”

  
“Not even about my own family?” Arthur shot back, feeling a rush of anger that was as giddy as it was goading under the strain of seeing his father's disapproval, under the instinct to shrink before that shadow.

  
“Do you want to flaunt the pain of that time and my shame and weakness back upon me?” Arctic temperatures were back in Uther's tones. “You want me to feel these things anew?”

  
Arthur faltered. “No – I just want you to tell me the truth!”

  
“Very well. Yes. She is your half sister.” The confession seemed loud in the small study, the words an aggressive shove.

  
Yet even with it spoken aloud, having gotten his answer, Arthur didn't feel success. His father was red faced, his eyes steely, but under the force of the delivery, the revelation had turned, and showed the soft belly where tender things were hidden. All Arthur had done was cause Uther distress, in bringing light to those small errors that many a stud was in risk of making. How could a man do great things if he had not also done bad?

  
Before Arthur could form a response through the embarrassment and shame of having exposed his Grand Alpha's vulnerability, Uther turned his back on him and spoke in a low voice worse than a shout. “Get out.”

 

ᴥ

  
 _Excerpt of confidential data from_ Blockers: The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

  
_Subject: St. James, Marc_

  
_Sexugender/Physiogender: betamale_

  
_Orientation: homosexual_

  
_Marital Status: Single, Unbonded_

  
_Let's be clear, I'm only doing this because it's anonymous and my boss is making me._

  
_That said, why do I take blockers? I work in the fashion industry. The myth that everyone who likes clothes must be queer or momega is bullshit. It helps in some places, sure, but it doesn't mean automatic fashion sense, either. You can be gay and dress like an idiot._

  
_And just because parts of the industry might think gays are fashion nirvana, it doesn't erase what kind of blistering hell you grew up with, or the bitch on the third floor of your apartment who holds signs about fags burning in hell at protests to purge all that sexual tension, since her husband can't stand to be in the same apartment with her._

  
_Not that I'm bitter. I'm just saying. In my case, momega is safer._

 

ᴥ

 

Merlin's mother's kitchen had not changed since he was a child. The wonky drawer was still there, the refrigerator with the colorful magnets with the names of destinations she bought as travel souvenirs, the old dining table from her mother's kitchen and a window box filled to bursting with herbs.

  
It was all so familiar and reassuring. Merlin felt that odd nostalgic sensation of youth while sitting at the table, a cup of cider under his fingers. He could have been seven years old again, for all the space around him had altered since that time. Seven and without a care, instead of over thirty and so weighed down he'd impulsively run home for Thanksgiving in the frantic hope he'd find some peace of mind, on the soft command of a friend.

  
'Why don't you go home for the holiday? Go see your mother, get away from all this.' Gwen had said while petting his hair, holding him the night of Alice's news, when feelings and confusion were eating him from the inside out.

  
It was the best thing she could have suggested. He'd finished out the week like a gasping racehorse, the finish line in sight. Gwen had helped him pack, drove him to the airport and put him on a plane. His mother was there to enfold him in her arms as soon as he cleared the security checkpoint.

  
“You're sure you'll be all right?” his mother asked, worry permeating the tones. She wore her pale pink scrubs with Piglet on them, all ready for her shift at the hospital.

  
“I'll be fine, Mom, it's not like I don't know my way around,” Merlin smiled. For the first time in weeks, it didn't feel brittle.

  
She'd been so excited about his being here, and then disappointed because she'd volunteered to work evening shifts at the hospital, thinking she was going to be on her own. It was enough to make Merlin feel badly he hadn't made the effort to make the 200 mile trek home through holiday travel congestion more frequently. Then again, privately, he also thought his mother might make being in the hospital through the holidays a little more bearable for some.

  
“I'll be home after midnight,” she said and pressed a kiss to his brow.

  
“Stay safe,” he wished, and waved to her as she gathered her things and departed.

  
Rather than the oppressive, pregnant silence Merlin's apartment had in the last weeks, even before the break-in, the quiet of his childhood home was peaceful. Unagitated.

  
After finishing his cider, Merlin hauled his bags upstairs. He unpacked, then set himself do a few chores and odd jobs that needed doing around the house. He didn't let himself think too much. He put it all away, left it behind. He only let himself ponder which detergent to put in the washer, and how much he should water the garden.

  
He was just carrying out a bag of trash when a joyfully derisive voice called to him.

  
“Well, if it ain't college boy!”

  
Merlin turned to spy Will heading across the road with a little girl toddling uncertainly in her Tinkerbell sandals beside him, her hand in his.

  
“Hello, peon,” Merlin greeted with a smile that widened for little Eva. “Hello Eva! Will, she's so big!”

  
“That's what happens when you don't visit for a year. Say hello, Eva. Remember uncle Merlin?”

  
Eva stuck her fingers in her mouth and hid behind Will's leg, peeping out at Merlin shyly.

  
“Huh, going with a no,” Will said of his timid offspring. He socked Merlin in the arm gently. “How you been? I read your fancy paper. Your mom was pushing copies on everyone.”

  
“Did you understand any of it?” Merlin teased.

  
“Yes, all the articles and prepositions, smart-butt.”

  
“Smart Butt?”

  
“I'm a dad. I can't go around giving my kid a foul mouth, Annie would kill me.”

  
Merlin invited them in. So as not to shame his mother, he played host properly, offering drinks and cookies.

While Merlin was alien to Eva, Hunith's kitchen clearly was not. Eva went right to the cookie jar and flexed her chubby fingers at it, eyes wide and imploring. Once given one, she sat subdued on her father's lap, gnawing away while Merlin and Will chatted, making a gummy, crumby mess Will seemed entirely oblivious to. Well, until she finished; then her dad escorted her to the bathroom to wash up.

  
There was no doubt she was cute. Little fat fingers and toes, giant eyes with the thick, curling lashes. Her ringlets were ruddy brown, just like Will's, with a few barrettes making it clump up.

  
Other than that, Merlin felt no particular draw towards her, the kind he thought breeders should experience. He simply didn't feel a sense of yearning for one of his own, upon beholding her. Not tender and wanting, not planning to make a nest of his own, cradling a tiny body of his loins. He could identify a cute child, be annoyed by an ill-behaved one, but he had absolutely no desire to bear or raise one. No desire to fit a cradle amongst his books. He was intelligent enough to know that the lack of want didn't invalidate his gender standing. He wasn't less of an omega or breeder for not wanting children, no more than an alpha or a stud was less. It was an archaic notion that assigned having offspring as the paramount purpose of a breeder, but somehow impregnation was not the focal point of a stud. If a stud didn't have any kids, zer just didn't want to settle down. If a breeder didn't, that seemed to mean zer was defective.

  
Sometimes, he heard people tell the child-less that maybe they didn't want children now, but they would some day, or, that those without children couldn't possibly imagine how complete their lives would be, until they had a child. At which point there was no take-backsies if they were wrong and it turned out the child-less were indeed happier when they had been sans-offspring.

  
And it wasn't that Merlin wouldn't love a child, were he to have one. People were biologically mandated to love their children, with a few exceptions. But, would squeezing a child into the corners of his life be very fair to the kid? Was he willing to make that sacrifice?

  
“Kind of last minute, wasn't it? You skedaddling home?” Will said upon his return. Eva headed over to dig out a basket of toys hiding under a table in the family room.

  
“I just needed a break,” Merlin said.

  
“You? The workaholic?”

  
“I'm not a workaholic,” Merlin defended, fingers curling around his new cup of cider.

  
“And if you keep telling yourself that, it will come true and winged pigs will fly out of your ass.” Will said with casual flair.

  
“I thought you couldn't say that any more.”

  
Will waved a hand. “She's more than ten feet away and absorbed with that truck again. I tell ya, Tinkerbell and construction equipment. One day she's gonna have a Breaker with fairies painted all over it.”

  
Merlin shrugged. “At least she'll be able to defend her own virtue.”

  
“You got me off topic. When's the last time you took a vacation that did not involve work in some way?”

  
“I spent a few days at a lake house over the fourth of July with Gwen and Freya –”

  
Will cut him off with a sound like a buzzer intoning an incorrect answer. “A vacation without your co-workers. Co-workers invalidate it.”

  
“That sounds like bullshit.”

  
“Don't curse in front of my kid, asshole.”

  
Merlin couldn't help a laugh. Will grin crookedly, then joined in.

  
“Seriously, dude. You look kind of like shit. Bags under your eyes, all puffy and haggard,” Will said.

  
“Gee, thanks,” Merlin said sarcastically.

  
Will continued, ignoring Merlin's interjection. “You should think about taking one of them whatchamacallits, where you ditch work for a long time?”

  
“Sabbatical?”

  
“Yeah. One of them.”

  
It wasn't that the idea didn't have some merit. He could find a home, fix it to his tastes, get his life in order, but afterwards what? What would he do with himself? If he couldn't research and lecture and go to campus, what would he do? He wasn't made for lying on beaches doing nothing. That might drive him madder than enduring was.

  
“Not a good time right now,” he said, and artfully diverted Will into talking about his marriage and job.

  
After Will and Eva left, Merlin watched them wind through the garden. At the street Will made a big production of looking both ways before they crossed the street, his index finger caught in her little fist.  
Merlin wondered idly what a child of his and Arthur would look like. Stocky, blond and fat-cheeked, like little Arthur? Or scrawny, slight and dark haired like Merlin? Some combination of the two, maybe? A little blond beanpole rascal, with deep blue eyes and a charming grin? Or a round-cheeked, dark-haired girl, shy and bookish?

  
When Merlin realized he was puzzling the options while it grew dim with evening, he put an abrupt halt to that nonsense. Arthur talked about children a lot. If there was anything to illustrate their incompatibility, one could look no farther than that. Arthur wanted to be a father. He deserved to be, if that was what he wanted to be. Sure, he'd be a little overbearing at times, and if his kid was anything like he was, there would be foot stamping aplenty, but Merlin suspected few fathers would love their children more. So long as he had a spouse who would remind him when he was being a dick.

  
...And he was thinking about Arthur in a domestic context again.

  
“Dammit.”

  
It was just his approaching heat, he reasoned as he went into the house. It messed with his brain, made him think about kids whether he wanted to or not.

  
He was still awake when his mother returned home after one in the morning. She fussed over him still being awake, but Merlin dismissed her worries, plying her with a light dinner he'd made her, hearing her talk about her job.

  
“It's okay I came home, even with such late notice, right?” Merlin asked, a thread of doubt stitching through his chest when they sat with cups of herbal tea after the meal.

  
“Oh, honey, of course.” Hunith moved to the couch beside him. “Though, it has been a while, and you decided to come home very suddenly. I wondered if there was something going on you might want to talk about?”

  
Merlin fiddled with his cup. “What makes you think that?”

  
“Because I'm your mother,” she said with a smile.

  
Merlin couldn't resist smiling in return.

  
“And it's my job to offer you refuge when you need it, advice, and then kick you out back into the world to face it,” Hunith said.

  
Somehow, Merlin found himself stretched out on the couch, laying his head in his mother's lap and spilling his guts like a guilty sinner in church.

  
His mother listened as only a mother could, stroking his hair while he told her everything. His shock and fear scenting his alpha after all these years, then his horror that, of all people it had been Arthur Pendragon.

  
Hunith's brows winged way up at that. “Pendragon, the blond boy in all those pictures you put up in the attic?”

  
Yeah, he needed to take all those down before something went awry and he ended up being completely humiliated by them.

  
Merlin nodded sheepishly.”Please don't ever mention them, Mom. Ever.”

  
“Wait, Senator Pendragon's boy? The one dating Mithian Montgomery?”

  
It was Merlin's turn to raise his brows at his mother.

  
“What? I look at the headlines in the check out lines at the grocery store, the same as everyone else. You had such a crush on that boy, all the time you were growing up... oh.” Hunith's look was equal parts concerned and considering. Merlin could read the question forming in the shallows of her expression.

  
“So did a lot of people, Mom. He was probably on the bedroom walls of thousands of omegas, and so far as I know I'm the only one to have this response. I didn't even know it was him, when I first smelled him.”

  
Her expression softened. “It was like that for me with your father,” she said fondly.

  
It had been a while since his mom had mentioned Balinor Drake, but then, once Merlin was old enough to understand Balinor had left Hunith without a word, Merlin stopped asking or caring about the man who sired him. Anyone who could sneak out of bed and leave the woman you'd been living with for a few months without a word or a note was not someone Merlin wanted anything to do with.

  
He didn't ask, not even when given such an easy opening. Instead, he resumed his story. Told her of meeting Arthur at Spring Run, and how rude he'd been, and then seeing him again at Freya's. She nodded, growing quiet to listen.

  
Altogether, it had the framing of a story Merlin could tell Gwen's grand-children as a kind of fairy tale when he was old and asked to regale them. That one Spring Run when he met his perfect-smelling mate. The kind of story laced with the tiniest bit of regret for what might have been, while Arthur married someone else and continued the line of American Pendragon Royalty, none the wiser to what he had met and lost.

  
Instead, Gwen and Lance. Gwen and Lance and their ridiculously fluffy greeting card of a romance. Hunith was pleased, since she quite liked Gwen, not that it was possible to dislike Gwen. When Hunith had visited a few years ago they cooked, and chatted and mourned Merlin's apartment non-stop. Hunith always asked for updates on Gwen, and sent her Christmas presents.

  
It was only when he got to the kiss that Merlin hesitated in his retelling. He'd yet to tell anyone about it. It felt too intimate and tender a thing to share, to bandy around like gossip. But, it was important, so he told her that too, how Arthur had kissed him and fled, and made him so confused about whether he was happy or sad about that.

  
After Merlin went silent, the whole of the last year laid out, Hunith continued to stroke his hair.

  
“You're not saying anything,” Merlin said worriedly after a long while.

  
“Well, honey, it's a lot to take in. It's certainly been a busy year for you.”

  
Merlin nodded. “It's just, with the apartment, and the police and the stuff on campus and Arthur. It's so much.”

  
“I know. And you're used to keeping your heart so guarded,” Hunith said, and Merlin thought he detected a note of sadness inside the affection.

  
“I don't. I haven't . . . have I?”

  
Hunith nodded.

  
Merlin shut his eyes. “I have to keep it closed. I know what everyone wants from me, what everyone thinks is going to happen, but just because I'm attracted to him, that doesn't mean I will. He's got this estate he's fixing up in the middle of nowhere, and he's just going to drop his omega there to do the child rearing while he carries on with his life, stopping in to lay pipe. I know it's well meaning, but it's also cruel. I keep thinking maybe he's learning, maybe he sees, and then he gets this glorified kennel ready for a bitch to whelp in. That's _me_ , Mom. He wants to take me away from Gwen and Freya and Finna and Gwaine and Albion and my students, because all of the things I love and matter to me are less important than carrying on his genetics. I might as well not be a person to him. Just a machine. A machine to make children so Uther Pendragon can carry on his quest for an American dynasty.”

  
His mother didn't say anything. Just petted his hair, and Merlin couldn't stop it. “And even if he's ignorant and selfish and sexist, sometimes he's valiant and kind. When he stops being what the world and the press and Uther and even what he thinks he should be? There's a decent man under there.”

  
He wished he'd never seen the decent man, hiding under the protective skin of an asshole. But he had, and he couldn't unsee it. It didn't alter his decision, but it made it a hell of a lot harder. Made him wish for all the things Arthur might be, but probably would never be. Made him wonder.

  
He stared sightlessly across the room, caught in those wonderings.

  
“Sometimes,” his mother said, drawing his attention back, “people don't know how to be more than they are until they have to be. Some can find their way, but sometimes people need someone to tell them what that more is, and how to be it.”

  
Merlin didn't completely understand this, and it must have showed on his face. His mother smiled at him in that way mothers had when they were reaping the benefit of their advanced wisdom while their children stumbled around blind.

  
“Have you tried to uncover that decent man?”

  
Merlin nodded. At least, he'd tried to introduce a lot of new ideas into that thick head. “But it isn't enough.”

  
“How do you know?” Hunith asked.

  
“Because nothing's changed.” Maybe some things had, some small things. Arthur politely making his invitations to his pack, making a few less automatic statements, thinking a bit more. While Merlin didn't want to undermine those victories, the big things had not altered in Arthur's mind. He was still in charge, he still had a den to put his omega in and he would still do whatever he wanted when he wanted and expect Merlin to roll over and take it.

  
Sure, maybe in the bedroom Merlin liked a little authority, but he was having nothing to do with someone who – how had Kirsty put it? – Who didn't understand that what he liked sexually didn't necessarily apply to the rest of his life. Arthur didn't seem like he'd get the distinction, that just because maybe there were certain activities Merlin liked in certain situations, that didn't mean he was going to like them in other situations. If the business with the bed had taught him anything, it was that, in many regards, Arthur was oblivious to nuance.  
And if one was going to take Arthur, one took Uther with him, and that was an in-law Merlin would not wish on anyone.

Since Hunith hadn't been expecting any company, they had a slightly slapdash Thanksgiving lunch instead of dinner. Hunith got up inhumanly early to put a small turkey in the oven, despite protests from Merlin. The previous day they'd made pies, and when Merlin trundled out of bed Thanksgiving day he got started on the vegetable dishes while still in his pajamas while they chatted and laughed. They ate a little past noon, and Hunith had to dash off with pie in a container. Merlin did the washing up with little regret. It was quiet, calm and there was a kind of peace borne of the knowledge that there was going to be no one unexpectedly dropping by. Except Will, perhaps, but he was one of the few people Merlin wasn't actively deceiving.

  
After scrubbing out pans and plates, Merlin did something he hadn't done in years; he lay down on the couch and read a book with no academic value to speak of. A completely ridiculous book about a future cop dealing with a serial killer in her future city.

  
He was curled up, halfway finished and slowly working at a piece of pie when his phone rang.

  
He considered not answering it. He'd have to get up. He'd have to talk. He was supposed to be resting.

  
Curiosity won out. Who would be calling on Thanksgiving? Possibly it was Gwen, wanting to know he was safe and being fed. He craned his neck to see the display.

  
Arthur.

  
Merlin bit his lip, a bit shocked to see the caller ID, but he couldn't resist. “Hello?”

  
“Your stupid apartment gets burgled and you don't bother to tell me?” Arthur snapped on the other end.  
Merlin rolled his eyes. “Hello, Arthur. Happy Thanksgiving to you too. What? Yes, I'm fine, all things considered, how are you?”

  
“This isn't funny, you idiot. You're supposed to tell me when things like this happen.” Arthur's humor was not improved.

  
“Why, again? I think I declined being in your pack fairly thoroughly. Oh, and there was that little thing where you were ignoring me.”

  
“It's not like I would have hung up on you. Christ, Merlin, at the very least we're friends. Friends tell each other when they've been _robbed_ ,” Arthur said.

  
“Oh, are we friends?” Merlin said before he could curb the snark.

  
He could almost hear Arthur gnashing his teeth, and actually hear a series of fumblings, and then a door closing, presumably so Arthur could achieve some privacy. “Yes. You're my friend, you insufferable shit!”

  
“Oh.”

  
“Oh,” Arthur parroted.

  
“Well, I wasn't sure, with the running out of my apartment like I gave you mange, then ignoring my calls and texts. How did you even find out?” Merlin flopped back on the couch and shut his eyes.

  
Now Arthur sighed heavily. “Merlin … I can't– I don't know what it is, between us, but whatever it is or could be, it can't be. I have a mate. You can't know what that is, to have someone meant for you, but I have to be a better man, an honorable one. I can't be adulterous.”

  
Merlin could say it, he acknowledged in a quiet corner of his mind. He could force his mouth to open and say 'oh, indeed, I don't know, except for the fact that I happen to be the mythical unicorn in question'. He could stop digging deeper and deeper. He could crush Arthur's hopes in the same moment as he set himself free.

  
And then?

  
Would Arthur hate him? This mate Arthur dreamed of, this complete fantasy. Merlin could never measure up to that. Some gentle home-maker, eager to bear the next generation of Pendragons. Someone who'd say 'Now, dear,' when Arthur went a bit too far. Not that it wasn't a fantasy that deserved total crushing, but was it a part of helping uncover the decent man?

  
“What does that mean to you?” Merlin's mouth said instead.

  
“What?”

  
“'A mate that's meant for you'. What does that mean?”

  
“What do you mean, what does it mean?” Arthur said, sounding equally confused and flustered. “It means a mate, Merlin. The one person in the entire world you're meant to be with, who is just for you, who will need you, who will love you, no matter who or what you are.” His tone changed as he spoke, a tumble of words that seemed to snowball from his lips, until it had gone soft. “A mate is everything you want and need. Someone precious.”

  
“Your mom and the Senator. Were they . . . ?”

  
“Yes,” Arthur's voice came after a moment's hesitation. “She was everything to him.”

  
“And you want someone to be everything to you, to belong to you,” Merlin finished the thought that floated between them, feeling sick and oddly numb at the same time. “Because someone like me, someone who couldn't bond to you, someone who was just who they were, could never be enough for you.”

  
“They were just kisses, Merlin. Some weird, experimental thing. Nothing more,” Arthur said, but Merlin thought he sounded less sure than he was aiming for in his quiet dismissal. Also, trying to mask some discomfort.

  
“Yes, people often run away from meaningless kisses,” Merlin agreed, bitterness on his tongue.

  
“There's someone waiting for me, can you understand that? I've been searching for zer for years. Years. Now I'm close, for the first time. I can't let zer go. I have a duty to zer, and I'll uphold it. I'm a lot of things, but I try to be a man of my word,” Arthur said. “Also, I'm actually not gay, if you'd care to notice.”

  
Refuse Merlin to be loyal to him. There was a certain irony to that. Maybe some day Merlin would be able to laugh at it, instead of almost choking on the lump in his throat. And he hated that he could feel himself choking up, because there was no reason for it. Wasn't he being given exactly what he wanted?

  
“I didn't call to talk about this,” Arthur said. “Gwen said you didn't think it was a random crime, your place being broken into. Is everything all right?”

  
“I don't think there's anything you need to worry yourself about,” Merlin said.

  
“Merlin, don't do this.”

  
“Look. I'm not your pack, or anything more. I'm just a friend, and that means I can do whatever the hell I want to,” Merlin returned.

  
“You're blowing this out of proportion,” Arthur was clearly trying to be controlled and lofty.

  
Merlin jerked to his feet, anger surging and burning away the disjointed detachment. “You know what? That's my right, too, to blow a few stupid, empty, meaningless kisses that you would rather forget out of proportion. Or maybe this is the correct proportion, and it's okay to be angry and sad because the bird in the hand isn't worth the two in the bush, and it would be easier for you to follow some orders about how to live, rather than do anything because you felt it. You're not my alpha, remember? Not that you don't behave as if you'd really like to be all the time,” he snapped.

  
“I never said they were empty.”

  
“No, because that would make you a liar.”

  
“Why must you make this so difficult?”

  
“No. Don't do that. Don't hang this on me like I'm the jerk for bringing it up,” Merlin said.

  
“Is that the kind of man you want me to be? One who'll arrange a home for his mate while fooling around with someone else? Who won't see the harm in continuing to be unfaithful after marriage? I happen to think marriage, mating, bonding, it means something.”

  
“You're being faithful to someone you haven't met, and might not find.”

  
“Don't say that. Don't ever say that. I will find zer.”

  
The tone exuded such determination Merlin felt both chilled and warmed by it. How he could feel both at the same time was beyond him, but he did. Only Arthur ever seemed to inspire such duality in Merlin's experiences. Should he hope for Arthur's success? Should he pray for failure?

  
“I will find zer,” Arthur repeated.

  
Merlin summoned up words from his dusty throat. “Great. I'm sure everything will be just great. I have to go.”

  
“Merlin–”

  
Merlin disconnected. Arthur called back, but he didn't pick up.

 

ᴥ

  
There was some method to Hunith's madness of working Thanksgiving day, and the days preceding it; she got to have Black Friday off. A day during which Hunith was willing to risk bodily harm for significant savings. Merlin found himself being dragged along, though he felt more alarm than interest in watching people frothing at the mouth over potential bargains.

  
“You just stay here with the cart and I'll go fetch it,” Hunith directed, once they'd managed to get inside the store after waiting in a line for hours upon hours, and then survived a kind of blitz, hurling things into the cart until they got deeper into the store to the toy section.

  
Considering the madhouse of aggressively driven carts, Merlin was only too happy to wedge himself in beside a candy display and guard the cart. Also, enjoy the warmth and avoid the crazy.

  
These people were vicious. He'd known it would be frantic, what else were legends of Black Friday for? Still, the reality was shoppers with fanatical lights in their eyes, the bargain hunting nothing short of zealous. They zipped around barking orders, clutching newsprint announcements of the sales, most of them running on caffeine, adrenalin and bad tempers.

  
An alpha stared at him from across the way, but Merlin gave him the disapproving professor eye, lest the alpha think he was going to filch anything from Merlin's cart. That television had been hard won in a battle, and was now a spoil of war. And Merlin needed a new one for his place.

  
Merlin bet that Arthur never had to do this. He simply walked into a store and bought anything he wished. Then again, what he gained in convenience he lost in human experience.

  
Merlin shifted. Since the heat was on, the frantic people dashing around made it seem a little stuffy and over-warm. He wanted to peel off his jacket, but was a little concerned it might get lost in the scramble. He unzipped it though, and leaned against the handle of the cart, eyeing the contents.

  
It was a good opportunity to get some very nice Christmas gifts, despite Merlin's overall reluctance to come. Lord knew all of his friends deserved to be spoiled this upcoming holiday for putting up with him and his all-time levels of drama. With a budget currently in the crapper, Merlin needed all the help he could get.

  
The alpha was back, rooting aimlessly through a big vat of bargain DVDs and shooting Merlin looks every few moments. What the hell? It was Black Friday, didn't he have better things to be doing?

  
Merlin turned his back on him. He wondered if Gwen and Lance were out together. How had their meal gone, when Arthur wasn't having fits and storming off to make phone calls. Had they had to put up with his sulk? Since Arthur had been with Gwen yesterday, instead of shoveling mashed potatoes in a hairnet, that must have meant the talk with Uther had not gone as smoothly as it could have. So he'd been spending the holiday with Gwen. Merlin briefly noted that he should call Morgana when the holidays were over, find out how she was doing, then he went right back to worrying about the bane of his serenity.

  
Maybe he should be flattered that Arthur's worry overshadowed his Merlin Embargo. It wasn't as if Arthur couldn't have gotten most of the facts from Gwen. He didn't have to call at all. He'd wanted to call, then. Even if it was just to scold Merlin, that desire had over-ridden anything else that had been restraining Arthur from contacting Merlin.

  
Did that mean something? Or, was he over-thinking things? It could be Arthur simply liked berating people, and he couldn't let such a prime opportunity pass.

  
This was the trouble with Merlin's brain. He could think of too many options and now he was drowning in them. He yearned to know which was the truth.

  
“Hey,”

  
Merlin blinked. The weird alpha was standing there, grinning dopily and holding a copy of Sucker Punch. That alone was a reason to kick him in the shin.

  
Merlin was crabby he'd been roused from his thoughts, so his tone was hardly polite. “Yes?”

  
“I'm Kevin.”

  
“Fantastic. What do you want?”

  
Kevin shuffled his feet. “What's your name?”

  
“I'm not going to tell you my name.” Merlin abruptly realized that he was in the middle of being picked up. He shook his head. “Really, Kevin? In a Target?”

  
Kevin looked surprised, then angry, “Well, you don't gotta be a bitch about it!” He huffed and stalked off with his DVD.

  
Good riddance, Merlin thought. He was in no mood to entertain that kind of bullshit.

  
His mother returned with some enormous child's toy in a pastel box. “Look, for Eva. Do you think she'll like it?”

  
Merlin eyed the box. It seemed to make sounds, and have pieces guaranteed for maximum pain should an unsuspecting adult, such as, for a wild example, Will, step on them in the dead of night. What else did a kid need besides noise and potential harm to her parents?

  
“Looks fine,” Merlin said.

  
Hunith smiled, pleased with herself and began to rearrange things in the cart to make room.

  
Merlin half watched.

  
A woman with two kids blew by, but the older girl slowed as they passed. She was just a teenager, pink bands on her braces. Merlin could see them when her mouth fell open, staring at him.

  
“Wow... ” she said.

  
“Alexa!” her mother called irritably, and Alexa had to scramble to keep up with her mother.

  
Hunith straightened. “What on earth was that about?”

  
Merlin frowned. “I have no idea.”

  
He was helping re-arrange the cart when his mother gripped his wrist, her expression turning worried.  
“Merlin,” she said, voice full of concern. “You didn't tell me you'd gone off your suppressants!”

  
“Huh? No, I haven't,” Merlin said, his brows drawn together.

  
“But I can smell you, honey,” his mother sniffed him delicately again, then nodded. “I can't smell the omega, but I can smell the approaching heat makers. It's faint, but it's starting.”

  
“What?” Merlin said, the immediate surge to laugh it off dying when he saw the seriousness on his mother's face. “That's impossible. I'm on blockers, you shouldn't be able to smell me!”

  
“Well, unusual but not impossible,” Hunith said. “Have you been skipping doses?”

  
“No, never!” He would never have taken the risk. He pulled his jacket shut tight around himself. God, Kevin and that girl. They'd been smelling him. Could smell him. It had been years since that happened, and now he was starting to exude that musky come-hither smell that called them. Shame thickened in his throat.

  
“Either way, we need to get you home,” Hunith said.

  
“What about...?” Merlin looked down into the full cart, which seemed such a silly consideration, but he didn't want to ruin his Mother's outing. “I'll just go, wait in the car.”

  
“No, you won't,” his mother said firmly. She dug her cell phone from her her bag, and after some rude shoppers shoved past her, dialed. Fearfully attentive and then horrified as Merlin heard her asking Will to come get him.

  
“Not Will!” he said, unable to keep the whine out of his voice.

  
“Someone has to come; we only have one car, and this television is a steal.” She paused. “And you might like to take advantage of me being out of the house.”

  
Well, she had a point; still, it made him flush, even if Hunith had been the one to give him his first sex toy.

  
“Well – okay, but, Mom, this isn't supposed to happen!” Merlin gripped his jacket.

  
“I know sweetie, I know.” Hunith hugged him in the middle of the store, and held him like that until Merlin squirmed free, self conscious.

  
When Will arrived he texted, and Merlin dashed from where he had been loitering near the front of the store with his mother and climbed into the car. Will's smile was cheerful as ever.

  
From where she was strapped in the back seat Eva called to Merlin. “Buckle! Buckle!”

  
“He's buckling, babe. Good car safety!” Will said as the car began to move.

  
The car's heaters were blowing, and it made Merlin feel a little over-hot. Still, he shrugged deeper into his jacket and sank low in his seat miserably. Sure, he'd gone into his first heat sitting on Will's living room couch, attributing his discomfort to the August heatwave as they played Mario Kart, but this was different. That occurrence was a relic of childhood, when neither of them had known any better, or, indeed, anything at all until Will's dad came home, took one breath and called Hunith. It was only when the boyish spell of pixelated competition and absent-parent profanity-ridden trash talking had been broken, that both of them noted how the living room stunk of Merlin. And, yeah, maybe he'd had a persistent boner he'd rubbed once or twice over the course of the afternoon, but he was _thirteen_. Persistent and inexplicable boners were his job at that age.

  
Now he was an adult, these elements long since under control. Embarrassment sloshed in his belly, an icy, bilious brew.

  
He had heard of suppressant failure. It was rare, a product of several variables, but not unheard of, though that didn't comfort him. He'd never had a problem before. Last August everything was perfectly normal … well, excepting the MRI, and yeah, maybe he'd let his brain slip once or twice to Arthur while engaged in certain activities, but it hadn't been like this at all.

  
Now that he paid attention to his body (not to mention sat) he could feel the moistness starting between his legs, a warm neediness in his groin, the creeping itch under his skin, and a faint ache in his joints.

  
He rolled down his window and stuck his face towards the blasting cold air until Eva wailed in discomfort for the bombardment. He rolled it up half way, but didn't want to pollute the car with the stuffy scent of his heat. The last thing he wanted to do was subject Will to the cloying omega-funk.

  
“Merlin, you're gonna blow a gasket if you don't stop worrying,” Will finally said after a few of the slowest minutes driving Merlin had ever experienced. The buildings were crawling past, as if they were hampered by tar, and the traffic lights were each extended ages from the Mesozoic.

  
“I'm not worried,” Merlin muttered toward the window. He didn't want to look at Will.

  
He got a jab in the side for his trouble.

  
“Ow! What?” He turned to Will.

  
Will gave Merlin a look of patient exasperation. “We've been through this a couple times. You should know you haven't got anything to shock me. We were naked in wading pools as kids. You're like my brother, and if you think your–” he glanced at his daughter in the back seat, then spelled out the following words. “–c-o-m-e b-r-e-e-d m-e smell is going to make me lose my mind, think again. And give me some f-u-c-k-ing credit; my daughter's in the back seat, freak.”

  
Merlin found himself rolling his eyes. “I didn't think that, and, by the way? Gross.”

  
“Then what did you think?”

  
Merlin shrugged and looked back out the window.

  
They didn't go directly home, but stopped off outside an ice cream parlor. Apparently Eva was convinced to accompany her father with the promise of ice cream.

  
“You want anything?” Will asked before taking off, Eva bouncing around beside him.

  
Yes, curse his body, he did. He wanted sugar. Cold sugar to quell the slow fever. He lifted his hips to wedge a hand into his pocket to see how much cash he had on him.

  
“I've got it, just tell me what you want before my kid wanders into traffic, wouldya?” Will said impatiently.  
“Rocky Road. And Mint Chip. And Butter Pecan.”

  
Will just nodded, thankfully saying nothing. He headed off.

  
Merlin rolled down the window and called after him. “With hot fudge and marshmallow sauce.”

  
Will waved his hand.

  
November or not, they ate ice cream. Will brought Merlin's monstrosity, which he was just starting to regret until he got the paper cup in his hands, then he set to devouring it, and finished before they got home.

  
John Denver sang _Country Roads_ on the radio, and it made Merlin nostalgic and yet sad at the same time, as he licked his spoon clean. No country road was going to take him to where he belonged. As much as he enjoyed being in his childhood home once more, he could feel a kind of faint constriction about it, like a shirt he could just squirm into, but didn't really fit him any more.

  
It was all the hormones that made him feel a little choked up, of course, but recognizing that wasn't enough to subdue it.

  
When Will pulled up in front of the house, Merlin practically sprinted inside after a hurried thanks while he wrestled with his seat belt.

  
He went upstairs to his attic bedroom, shrugging out of his coat, and then down to his underwear. He threw himself face down on his bed, enjoying the nip of cold air on flushed skin. He wondered how and why this was happening to him.

  
He spent an achy and sulky afternoon by himself in the quiet. Despite his mother's veiled reference to him taking advantage of the privacy, proper heat wasn't upon him yet. This was a sticky pre-stage which left him with an agitated energy and a mind consumed with wherefores. And not much desire to touch himself.  
He tried to research on his new laptop, but his mind was too scattered to do a proper job of it. He ended up just surfing porn.

  
Well, at least he was until he realized he was looking for videos with well-built blond men with Roman profiles and superior attitudes. Then Merlin slammed the laptop closed and resumed reading the book he'd begun.

  
His mother did come home eventually and Merlin dressed and went down to unload the car of all her goodies.

  
After, he submitted to an examination on her insistence. He sat on the couch and let her prod, observe and take temperatures.

  
“Maybe I was wrong . . .” she said when she finished, her medical bag beside her.

  
“What?”

  
Hunith frowned and gestured for him to lie down on the couch. He did, and she lightly pressed low into his belly.

  
“Does that hurt?” she asked.

  
“It's a little tender,” Merlin said.

  
Hunith leaned back, her face thoughtful. “You haven't been taking on a lot of water the last few days, so your hydroaphrodis gland isn't fully engorged for a full heat's worth of slick.”

  
Merlin reached down and felt his stomach. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  
“You're still on Culfactozine, yes? And you have no plans to go off your suppressants?”

  
At his assent, Hunith continued. “Well, that should minimize your heat to negligible levels, but your temperature is up and you're throwing off attractant hormones over the block. But you're not taking on water for copious lubricating like you should, and you're only slightly swollen. I don't think you'll go into a full heat cycle, but it does look like you may be in for a stronger one than you're accustomed to.”

  
That was somewhere on the list of the most disastrous things Merlin's life needed, currently; louder heats. In addition to them being inconvenient and plain old awkward.

  
“But, it's just the once, right? Just one stronger heat, then they'll go back to normal?” Merlin pressed.

  
“I don't know. Time will tell.” Hunith peeled her gloves off. “ Long term use can see fluctuations in Culfactozine's potency.”

  
Merlin stared down at his stomach. He felt along where his mother had pressed, felt the answering twinge of protest. When he looked up at his mother, Hunith's eyes had gone soft.

  
“Merlin, sweetie, maybe it's time to stop.”

  
“I can't,” Merlin said at once.

  
“You're done with schooling, you've got a good job, why not?”

  
Because of Arthur. Because of Cenred. Because of Olaf and Uther. Because of every person who said omegas got extra privilege because people wanted to fuck them, and thus shouldn't complain since they were the power holders. The gate-keepers of sex, who withheld it from worthy studs in some extortion ploy. Because omegas still weren't paid the same. Because he didn't want to be a wriggling bundle of salacity three times a year who might actually invite being handcuffed to the bed because his brain was too boiled on hormones to behave with a modicum of prudence.

  
But mostly right now because of Arthur.

  
“Merlin,” when he didn't answer, his mother settled beside him on the couch. She took his hand. “Are you going to give Arthur up? Never see him again?”

  
Never see Arthur's stupid, smug face again? Never hear his particular dry goading? Never argue about something, never watch those plush lips form Merlin's name in that annoyed and amused tone of voice?  
But maybe he could just see him on certain holidays at Gwen and Lance's. No more or less. Maybe, if Arthur continued keeping his distance, Merlin could undo their friendship, could starve it into something remote and wizened.

  
Those were the safe, smart choices, the kind he should have been making all along. Why hadn't he worked harder to avoid Arthur? Why hadn't he ignored all the emails and stayed home when he knew Arthur was going to be somewhere?

  
But never see Arthur again, except for the dry catching up that happened when people only saw each other once a year? The very idea made Merlin's heart quiver in protest.

  
His mother waited for the answer patiently.

  
When it came, it was small and abashed. “No.”

  
His mother stroked his knuckles. “Then it will come out. Secrets like this always do.”

  
Merlin couldn't deny that, either. This was a deception too fragile to survive years of close contact, and with so many people knowing key parts of it, thinking that it would remain a secret was laughable at best.  
“Will there be other studs for you?”

  
Merlin almost drew back from the gentle question, so automatic was his instinctive denial. After the mess with Daegal? “I'm not really feeling romantically inclined.”

  
“Now, yes. But what about in ten years? Thirty? Are you going to spend your life alone?”

  
Alone. Dying a virgin, maybe. Merlin hadn't thought much about his twilight. The image of him surrounded by books in slippers and a cozy armchair, maybe a cat sleeping near and beholden to none was not unattractive. No one to limit him, no one to nag at him about forgetting to cook dinner or do the laundry because the house was somehow his responsibility despite the fact that he also worked.

  
On the other hand, didn't people get lonely, as they aged? Would he spend his life mooching off of Gwen's family because he had none of his own? No one to curl up with at night, no one to tell him he was loved, even if he was nothing but wrinkles and liver spots?

  
“A– Are you saying – You think I should just give in? Do whatever he wants just so I won't be some lonely old man?” Merlin asked, alarm rising in his chest. Because you were scared of the future wasn't any better a reason to be with someone than because they smelled good or because your friends wanted it.

  
“No, sweetie, no, but . . .” Hunith trailed off, obviously picking out her words with a great deal of care before she spoke again. “Even if your father–“

  
Merlin bristled slightly at the mention of Balinor Drake, who had entered and departed his mother's life in a twinkling.

  
Hunith noted the flare of temper, but continued. “Even if he couldn't stay, or didn't want to, I would rather have known, instead of being left as I am. I'll never know what it was that kept us apart, if it was something I could have fixed or if it was completely impossible and nothing to do with me. Not knowing, it leaves it unfinished, I don't even know if I should hate him or pity him.” She reached out to push Merlin's hair back from his brow.

  
“You want me to think of Arthur, what I'm doing to him, how this affects him,” Merlin said, and it was perhaps a little more sullen than he intended. She did have a point.

  
“I want you to consider Arthur, yes. Remember what I said, some people might not know how to be better without help, and maybe Arthur hasn't had to be better yet. But, mostly? I'm worried about you.”

  
“Why?”

  
“Because, sweetie, you haven't given him up. There's still a possibility, isn't there?”

  
Merlin hesitated a moment then nodded.

  
“Then that leaves both of you still in limbo, not one thing or another. Arthur, still searching, always wondering where you are and why he can't find you. He likely won't stop looking, and so there is always a chance, for both of you. For him to find and you to be found … but as long as he doesn't find you, you don't have to reject him and move on, and he doesn't have to surrender the search and do the same. Speaking from experience, it's better to break his heart, because broken hearts can heal and move forward again.”

  
It was a Tinkle Or Get Off The Potty ultimatum, if ever Merlin had heard one.

  
He lay in the attic that night, his skin itching, his body alert, thinking. His thoughts were jittery, unable to settle. His mind flitted, passing through his mother's words, Arthur's face, his ruined apartment and the future that became hazier by the hour.

  
When he woke in the morning, it was on the tail of an erotic Arthur dream. He was slick, and irked at the whole process. He also had cramps.

  
Downstairs, he made coffee and stubbornly focused his mind on plans for next semester, rather than anything else physically occurring. He made breakfast for his mother to give himself something to do. She was most gracious about the enormous mess that came with making pancakes from scratch. Then again, directly he was done eating Merlin committed himself to scrubbing all the dishes and utensils, then the entire kitchen.

  
The activity rerouted his energy, as, despite hat his body wanted, Merlin did not want to succumb. But the itch under his skin had only grown, hot and anxious. It took assiduous focus to prevent dirty thoughts from working into his mind.

  
He couldn't hold it off indefinitely, though. In late afternoon he half trudged half fled upstairs, peeled off his clothing and, naked, retreated to bed, where he'd stacked fresh towels in anticipation. This time there was no pretense in his search for porn videos. He sought them out hungrily, solo videos of big blond malphas shucking out of their clothing, coquettishly peeling off their underwear to show the full, weighty expanse of their alphalli. He watched them sprawl or lie or stand, watched them draw along the length of phalluses, squeeze their knots, cup their balls. While he watched, he rolled his hips into the bed, that tiny bit of friction both a blessing and a curse.

  
It was only a matter of time before he surrendered, and after four such videos he did, with a little hiccup of need. Rolling on his back he drew his knees to his chest. The lewd exposure of it would have made him flush in any other circumstance. He didn't, but Merlin was not so gone that the pursuit of sexual gratification overwhelmed such considerations. He was aware of both his lewdness and how silly he must look, objectively. They simply couldn't compete with the want.

  
Being in that moment a participant instead of a voyeur was different. He could imagine how it could have been. If he was with Arthur, in some distant version of reality where it could happen, he wouldn't be the aging omega who had trouble getting in the mood. He wouldn't be the weird academic who was awkward with the fear of being unable to perform. No, he'd be Arthur's special unicorn he'd been hunting far and wide for.

  
Arthur's eyes would rove over him. He'd look, first. Look at every bit of Merlin, with a greedy expression, one he'd let Merlin see. One he wouldn't be ashamed of.

  
Then he'd touch. When he'd looked and looked his fill, he'd put his hands on Merlin. Hands Merlin had invited and wanted and desired unequivocally. Hands that would make his flesh sing. Hands that he would arch into.  
Arthur would linger, but Merlin could not. Couldn't wait for some relief, couldn't physically ape a scenario in his head which could never come to pass. He didn't let go of that image of a lusty Arthur, but he jumped ahead, jumped to the heated meat of it, pulling at his own tender nipples with one hand while he dug his supplies out of the nightstand drawer; his lube, the knot toy, and the bag with Arthur's sweatshirt. The smell was getting a little thin, but there was still enough of it. Merlin removed it from the bag and arranged it tenderly on the pillow, all properly folded. Then lay down with his head beside it.

  
The alpha lube was deliciously cool on his skin. Usually he didn't like the jelly-cold of it, but just now it soothed the hot ache that made his skin simmer while he stroked it between his legs. It was the hormones, he knew, but such intellectual considerations were fleeing him. Or perhaps he was casting them away, wanting to just be for a while, and stop thinking about being.

  
He was making slick. Not a lot, not like he remembered from his unsuppressed heats in high school, where the insides of his thighs were glossy with urgency, more the usual kind of wet. His fingers slid inside easily, found himself loose. It was always a little perverse, that discovery, to feel how far he'd gone that he'd relaxed and opened, waiting. Made him feel a little naughty, a little wild.

  
He held one knee to his chest for better access to play with himself, adding more lube, fondling his sac, and then working more fingers inside while he imagined it was Arthur, getting him tenderly ready. No words, Merlin couldn't make up any that didn't sound dumb even in his own head. But he imagined the breadth of palms, the blaze of a gaze, the ironclad intent, and that was enough.

  
He cupped his cock in a lube-slick hand, worked himself over briskly that way until a splintery little climax needled him. He didn't want to focus there, wanted that pressure lifted from his mind so he could really feel what he was going to do. It felt good through, a little whiplash of pleasure that, in part, cleared his head, but also made evident the need that still burned deep and low, the ache for filling, more, more.

  
He pulled one of the towels over, half unfolding, half wiping his hand off while he dragged it to lay under his hips.

  
He picked up the Knotty Rocket, the weight still foreign to him, and made sure everything was properly plugged in. Then he lubed it up, feeling the silicon bump and slide under his hand until the arcing scarlet length of it gleamed in bawdy intent. It had to be red. Red for passion. Red for sensuality. Red for Pendragon.

  
Lifting his legs aloft, Merlin reached down to run the toy over where he was needy, the play only having made him more so. Not mindless, no, not that yet, but eager. When he slid the Knotty Rocket inside it was with a helplessly wanton moan, hips rolling upwards as it filled him up. It was thicker than his last toy, but he liked the full stretch of it, the way he felt his body yield to take it.

  
With his hand pressed over his mouth he began to thrust the toy, scattering the irrepressible little cries into his palm to muffle them, breathing sharply through his nose. Shallow, at first, because Arthur would be sweet with him to start, be gentle and careful, but it would all be a plan to rile Merlin up until Merlin forgot how much he didn't want to be seen wanting it, the way alphas knew to make you want and want and want what only they had to give, what only Arthur had to give, and Arthur would hold it back just a little, just dangle it so it was so near – yes, like that, tease, tease, tease, a little more, please, oh, yes!

  
Little by little he gave himself more and more, promised and tempted himself the way he knew Arthur would to punish him just a little, until the need threatened to overcome him. His hands scrabbled for the switch to inflate the knot, smacking it to the middle setting. It swelled with the little grinding inhale, and oh, God, there it was. Like he dreamed, battering against where he was wanting and slick and needy. Merlin worked the Knotty Rocket harder, so he could feel the bounce of it outside his entrance, thrilled by and terrified of putting it inside him. Did he dare? Would he dare? His body was designed to take it, wasn't it? Nothing more natural in the world, nothing, and he wanted, needed, those nasty little omega thoughts boiling until they frothed over with delight with the mere thought of a facsimile. Of what it would be like to be knotted into place on his knees with someone nibbling at his ear, telling him what a good boy he was, taking it all, taking everything.

  
He pulled the toy free, panting, sweaty. Not in this position. No, it had to be right, had to be on his knees, so he could pretend it was Arthur covering him, just unseen. He came to his knees, his cock awake and hard once again, bobbing in front of him. He was slippery all down between his cheeks from lube and slick. Still, he lubed the shining end of the toy again, and then massaged the expanded knot. For an obscene moment he wanted to put his mouth on it, but it would only be plastics and synthetics and taste of lube. Not bitter and alive.

  
On his knees he lowered himself down until his chest touched the bed, his bottom out and open, cheek pressed to Arthur's jacket. With arms twisted back he prodded and ran the tip of the Knotty Rocket over himself again. Merlin took a breath, but he knew what he wanted; he thrust it in deep, keening when he cleaved himself.

  
He moved the Knotty Rocket sharply, jerkily and a little rough. Arthur, he imagined. Leaning back the way porn stars did so their bodies didn't touch, but the intimate act could be fully witnessed. Arthur watching it, maybe, watching their joining, watching himself plunge into Merlin until the knot was bouncing just outside him again and Merlin keened again for want of it. Slowly his world narrowed to it, to that, and how he was going to have it inside him, make Arthur proud, and it was going to be good. So good. Driving himself closer to that precipice, hips rolling back, heaving Arthur-filled breaths against the sweater until he buried his face in it to give a loud wail of impassioned intensity. It burned some, the long suspended stretching moment of it while the knot passed its largest point. In the next instant the Knotty Rocket was seated inside Merlin. He felt his muscles automatically clutch down on the intruder, locking it inside him.

  
With sticky hands he clawed at the bed, trying both to revel and escape the massive thing wedged in him which seemed to rub him right and wrong at the same time. No. Arthur wouldn't let him struggle. Arthur would hold him still, so Merlin firmed and spread his thighs, digging into the bed so hard he felt his fingertips ache. His breath came harsh, everything so intense the pain and the pleasure of it were nearly indivisible.

  
What would Arthur do now? He didn't know. But he knew what he needed. He waited until some knowing awareness inside him said it was okay to move, then he flexed over the long rod of silicon, flesh constricting over the shape of it. It made something spongy and pleasurable ripple inside him.

  
He couldn't move the toy out any more, his body keeping it locked in place, but a subtle jarring of it from the outside strummed something good, and slowly Merlin built the receded climax back up, panting into the sweater, moaning Arthur's name as he imagined being bound to another person like this.

  
Then he was climaxing around the Knotty Rocket. Pulses of pleasure radiating from his core like sweet euphoria, and his phone was ringing.

  
The sound was so dissonant Merlin was momentarily confused, blinking at it on the bedside. He could see the read-out. Arthur.

  
He smiled a spacey smile. Arthur wanted him and Merlin had such a yearning to hear his voice.

  
So he answered.

  
Arthur sounded gravelly, more forceful than usual. “You don't just hang up on me!”

  
“Okay.” Merlin wasn't in the mood to argue. Hearing Arthur's voice, all rough and contained made his toes curl pleasantly. He rested back on his knees, still knotted, cock still flushed between his legs. He lifted his free hand to skate his fingers under his foreskin, along the glans.

  
“Okay? Just okay? Does that mean you won't do it again?”

  
Merlin stifled a bit of a laugh. “Of course not. I'll do it when you need it.”

  
“That isn't for you to decide!”

  
Merlin was stroking in earnest now, Arthur's temperamental voice in one ear, as it would be, were it dropping from behind him. He was buzzing with warmth and endorphins and those last dregs of excitement which needed to mount until they too were swollen enough to burst.

  
“Is too.” Only Arthur didn't know how much it was.

  
“Look, I didn't call to get into another petty argument with you.”

  
“Why did you?”

  
“I don't want us to be angry at each other. I don't want this to fester and be the things that made us not be friends any more and whatever you were saying about birds – and don't interrupt, just let me say this.”

  
That was fine by Merlin. His breathing was starting to go uneven again while his hand moved and he clenched around the knot still buried inside him, saving Arthur's space. The idea almost made him moan again. He somehow knew he wasn't in his right mind, but while the unspent desire lingered, it caged him in a prison of need, gratification the only key.

  
“You are my friend, whatever dramatics you want to dress it up with. Maybe there's been some unclear parts, some things that shouldn't have been said said and some things that shouldn't have been done done. That's my fault. Maybe feeling my mate so near and yet so far has made me misdirect some of my pack efforts to you, and maybe some things came out more admiringly than I meant them to. You'll just have to accept that while I admire you, I don't _admire_ you. But I don't want us to get all twisted up over it, because I don't want us to be those friends who only see each other when mutual friends make them get together, and then we have those fake conversations about how business is going and our families and make small talk because that is all we've become to each other. Someone to survive small-talk with. That isn't what I want, and I hope it isn't what you want.”

  
The cessation of Arthur's voice jarred Merlin's rhythm, and he belatedly realized he was expected to respond. He had no idea what Arthur had been saying, perversely exhilarated by his audacity and salaciousness. He'd allowed himself to roll up and down the hills and valleys of Arthur's voice, bask in it while he inched closer and closer to another elusive crest.

  
“Uh . . . No?” Merlin made a wild stab in the dark.

  
“Good. I'm glad we're on the same page. I know it won't be easy, but if we work it out now, later, when we both have, well, when we're both in relationships, it'll be easier. I don't want to let it go, like Anna. I don't want to lose you to something as ridiculous as this.”

  
Merlin was so near tipping over the edge he couldn't even muster up any umbrage at Arthur terming their disagreement as ridiculous. He managed a guttural grunt that sounded more or less like an encouragement to continue.

  
Arthur did. “And I understand why you're feeling so sentimental about it, and I guess I could be less, you know. But, dammit, Merlin, you can't keep attacking me all the time, we're– ”

  
It boiled over, and Merlin gave an abortive cry of delight he half turned into a laugh out of some desperate attempt not to make an orgasm sound on the phone. It was too tight and frantic, and probably sounded absolutely insane, but another bout of pleasure curling around Merlin's brain made it hard for him to care while he spurted down onto the towel.

  
“Merlin, are you drunk?”

  
Merlin glanced around the room. No, he was on his knees with a Knotty Rocket swollen in his ass, having come three times in a row, now coming back to his mind, and his sticky, well sated body. Well, for now. His heat was just beginning.

  
“... Yes.” Merlin said, very definitely.

  
“No wonder you're being so agreeable. I'm not talking to you while you're drunk, you probably won't remember any of this, and any agreement we come to will be pointless. Sleep it off.” Arthur disconnected.

  
ᴥ

  
Merlin returned to work after his extended holiday break with a smile from Cenred, which was more smug and predatory than anything else. Merlin endeavored to ignore it and him and the entire world, and ruminate just how messed up a person he was, and how he might seek to correct his assorted flaws in the future.

  
He threw himself into teaching and work with Kilgarrah, in addition to house hunting. It was all in service of distracting himself from the truth of what he must do, come the new year and what he had done. Merlin couldn't quite bring himself to a 'Merry Christmas, I revile you!' method of informing Arthur of his plans not to live in the Pendragon Estate and punch out Uther's grandchildren. He ran the risk of potentially ruining all of Arthur's future Christmases and New Year's with remembrances of the year his truemate told him to take a hike.

  
It must be admitted, however, that none of the distractions were without flaw.

  
His apartment had been repainted, still smelled of it. A sweet chemical with a freshness that might have spoken of renewal, except there was never a moment when Merlin forgot what lay under the eggshell veneer. He could still see the words, the image of them so potent in his mind's eye that the trouble of painting almost seemed a waste. The apartment still felt ravaged in some fundamental way and so the corrections became a kind of cheap lie. He slept on the couch.

  
Everyone contributed to the search for a new, permanent residence for Merlin. The internet, the paper, realtor’s offices, rumor, all were sought for information. He toured house after house, most meeting with some insufficiency; too much, too small, bad plumbing, worse dry-rot, too far, too near, too landscaped. Of course, depending on who toured the property with him, key complaints changed.

  
Freya was chiefly concerned with the light; how much of it would enter the house, where and when, with a secondary worry about the spiritual feeling of the property. She wandered around prospective homes with her hands open and her eyes closed, feeling the energy, occasionally waving a stick of quartz. Gwen was more practical, which meant she went into all the closets, closed the door behind her and exited with full closet-space disclosure. This was followed by in-depth critiques of kitchen functionality and furniture placement analyses.

  
Gwaine asked after distances to the nearest local.

  
It was just as well, none of the houses thus far suited Merlin.

  
He didn't care about light or closets or proximity to bars. He wanted somewhere that felt like home, that was safe and called to him. It didn't matter if it needed fixing, just that he felt he belonged there, instead of it just being a place to rest his head. Nothing transient. Maybe, deep down, he was tired of being temporary.

  
ᴥ

  
Gwen, Freya and Merlin watched Vivian on the arm of the handsome malpha who had either decided, or been forced to decide, that Vivian was perfect spouse material. Vivian had her hand placed through his, precisely positioning it so the giant ring on her finger could be praised while she tugged the man from group to group, showing him off like a fat trout she'd landed.

  
“The good news is that none of us got invited,” Gwen said cheerfully. “I'm not sure I could have made it through that wedding with a straight face.”

  
“Are you implying some hypocrisy in the traditional bridal white?” Merlin was trying to be arch as usual, but some of his heart wasn't in it. “It's bullshit anyway. A western tradition started by Queen Victoria because she wore this white lace dress for her wedding, which the Victorians made into this virginity fad thing.”

  
Merlin just caught the slight glance Gwen cast him. “I suppose, a little. When I get married–”

  
“Are you?” Freya asked, nobbling on a Christmas cookie shaped like a snowman.

  
Gwen amended. “ _If_ I get married I want to wear something colorful. I know you can get wedding gowns in red . . . Unless I make my own. What about you, Freya?”

  
Freya shrugged. “My mother is living for buying my wedding dress with the longest train in the tri-state area. I'm not sure it's worth making my own plans.”

  
Gwen knew better than to ask Merlin about his wedding fantasy, thankfully, and if the omission felt a little pointed even among the three of them, they were quickly distracted by Gwaine and his antics on the dance floor. Then conversation turned to talk of costumes and masks as it had done in the weeks since the invitations had arrived.

  
They were embossed on luscious cardstock in ink that glimmered gold.

 

 

Gwen, Freya, Merlin, Gwaine, even Aithusa was boasting one of the cards. There had been tittering, then planning, then sketching, then shopping, and now, sewing and crafting, all squeezed in among other Christmas-making activities, like caroling, baking, and endless holiday craft fairs.

  
He did regard his own invitation at length and weighed the pros and cons of attending with tremendous care, though part of him already knew the outcome.

  
When he called to offer his regrets to Morgana, she tried to sway him, tempting him with both Arthur and Daegal's attendance in turn. As the presence of neither man was much of an enticement, Morgana's efforts failed. Then she offered a naked man on the buffet table Merlin could suck edible glitter and chocolate off of.

  
Merlin asked her what had led her to believe he wanted to lick a stranger's bits in a public place. She'd laughed in a naughty way that made Merlin flush.

  
“If you change your mind, come anyway!” Morgana said in parting.

  
Merlin promised he'd think about it. And he did, he just didn't change his mind.

 

 

He had a little tree. It was small, a little patchy. He hadn't had a tree for years, but he'd driven by the lot on his way to work day after day and something about seeing the green fir bodies day in and day out made him feel lonely. So he got out one evening on the way home, which was worse. Once he'd seen them he couldn't help but feel tenderly towards the misshapen trees left unloved and pushed aside for new, fresh truckloads as the holidays approached.

  
Gwen had a tree. It was large and fastidiously decorated in a Norman Rockwell worthy tree-trimming party during which Merlin had probably had more eggnog than was advisable, and ended up spending another night at Gwen's. It wouldn't have been bad, except he'd heard Lance and Gwen talking about him in worried tones when he got up that morning.

  
Merlin's tree was not beautified to Gwen's degree. He'd bought the lumpiest tree in the lot. He took it home, tangled it with some lights and decorated it with cut snowflakes and origami cranes which were about the only artistic things he could accomplish to make ornaments. It felt festive though, and made the apartment smell nice. He wrapped all the gifts he had to give and put them under the tree, and this made a lovely holiday picture he could feel proud of, even if his meager efforts were dwarfed by Gwen's behemoth Christmas Spirit, her halls decked so thoroughly she was in danger of an envy beat down by Mrs. Claus.

  
He ate a Christmas Eve dinner by himself, as Finna had headed off for the Caribbean. On Christmas day he rose, pottered about the place until a decent hour came, then loaded himself and his gifts into the car, and headed for Gwen's.

  
Gwaine was there, Gwen's father Tom, Lance, and her brother, Elyan, on Skype. Lance and Gwen wore matching Mr. and Mrs. Claus aprons, which were more horrific than sweet. They kept kissing under the mistletoe, as they bobbed to and fro from the kitchen while Burl Ives sang.

  
The irrevocable fact was, Merlin was not in the Christmas spirit. He tried to be, he laughed and joked, chatted with all and endured a very long tongue kiss with Gwaine under the mistletoe. What he wanted to do was eat the delicious Christmas dinner in the corner and sulk, but he was an adult, and that generally wasn't allowed any more.

  
And if he made Gwen cry on Christmas there were three men who would probably kill him for it.

  
So, he ate and was merry. He played board games and watched _It's a Wonderful Life_.

  
Presents were a mid-day spectacle. Merlin's offerings had been modest, since he'd had to replace his laptop, so he'd gone more for fun, giving them a collections of things of the variety that no one could simply walk out the door and get, but that had to fall into your lap, like cookie cutters shaped like medical equipment for Gwen, an amethyst geode carved into a sphere for Freya, and three amigurumi Nac Mac Feegles (one with authentic mouse skull helmet) for Gwaine, who, while Irish, felt a kinship.

  
Gwen and Freya had pooled together to replace Merlin's iPod and Gwaine gave him a new BluRay player.  
Far more impressive were the gifts from Morgana. They'd been sent by messenger, beautiful big boxes made from satiny cardboard with elaborate silver bows and fond notes on monogrammed cards. Gwen and Freya each had dresses, shoes and handbags, Gwen's Chanel, Freya's Betsy Johnson. They shrieked in delight. Gwaine had a thick green Burberry coat and Gucci sunglasses and belt. Merlin opened his to find a Dior three piece suit in a mid-range gray, two shirts, belt and even a tie. It was a beautifully made thing, but Merlin couldn't help but cringe at the catcalls. He had little doubt that everything Morgana had procured for them would fit perfectly, even if he would feel like a fool in a suit so fine, and so trim looking.

  
The Pendragon largesse was not limited to Morgana. As Merlin departed, Lance slipped him an envelope, then held up his hands in the familiar 'don't shoot the messenger' position. He was a little surprised, since Arthur hadn't called back since the phone call which would live in Merlin's personal hall of shame. There had been some texts and emails, but their tone was more subdued than usual.

  
Merlin saved it until he'd gotten home, so as not to provide Lance any tale to take back to Arthur. Inside he found two certificates for a disgustingly generous amount of money; one to Thomasville, and one to Ethan Allan. And a hastily scrawled note:

 

_**New homes need furniture. Remember, it's rude to return Christmas presents.** _

 

How he knew, Merlin didn't dare ask, and he had to forcibly restrain himself from sending Arthur a picture of him burning the two certificates. It was stupidly extravagant, and, as Merlin was learning, very Arthur. Not that he hadn't also been generous with Freya and Gwen, he found out later, though slightly less so.  
What he did do was text Arthur:

  
**[ I was right, you are a gift card kind of man.]**

  
Eventually he got a response.

  
**[Shut Up.]**

  
Christmas came and went, with one small surprise Merlin didn't expect. He went onto campus during one of the sluggish cold days between Christmas and the New Year to clean his office for the new semester as a way to get him out of his apartment. He found, in a bottom drawer of his desk, a copy of the chemical analysis Gwaine had run for him. He'd forgotten this back up copy, and here it was.

  
He duplicated it several more times, going so far as to send a copy to his mother, with instructions to tuck it away, just in case. He didn't take a copy to the police – not yet.

 

Merlin was sure that Morgana's New Year's party glittered. She wouldn't settle for anything less. In some ways, he was regretful he was going to miss the spectacle of it, a true high class party with Morgana holding court over a display of beautiful people. Merlin would have liked to have seen her in that element.

  
However, he also didn't want the pressure of it, the uncertainty, the veiled comments. Peace, was what this evening called for, and treating the oncoming year with the dread it deserved.

  
Also, Merlin was in no mood for the social obligation to be agreeable to complete strangers.  
He had a miniature bottle of champagne and was being indulgent with a half dozen exotic cupcakes from the fancy cupcake place downtown. One had bacon in it. Maybe it wasn't as jolly as most celebrations ringing in the New Year, but it was just the amount Merlin was in the mood for.

  
He called his mother, received a call from a gasping Gwen when they poured an actual Champagne Tower, but mostly he settled into an evening of rebuilding his cork board. The new chemical analysis took center place on a new, bigger cork board he took care not to set within view of any windows. Analysis, Cullen, Mitchel, suicides, assaults, he added the new bit about possibly making bonds unbreakable, as that was equally important. There was a kind of picture here, something to be made of all the facts whirling around his head, but it wasn't coming together yet.

  
It was after eleven when his front door resounded with a halting knock.

  
Finna, he thought. The Bunko group's New Year Party must have fallen through.

  
But through the peephole Merlin saw it was Arthur standing somewhat sheepishly outside. Merlin undid all the locks and peered out at him.

  
“Arthur.” Merlin was capable of no other response.

  
“Hello,” Arthur said.

  
“It's really late,” Merlin said, unnecessarily, but his brain still hadn't caught up with Arthur being here. He held the door in front of him.

  
“Yeah, well, when Gwen told me you didn't want to come to the party, I thought you might be alone.”

  
“. . . and?”

  
“And no one should be alone on New Year. Are you going to let me in or not?”

  
Merlin wished for spring and the capacity to close the door and leave him out in the hall. But it was December still, and while Arthur's sleek, chic car was doubtless waiting outside, Merlin had little faith Arthur would get in it and drive away, were Merlin to shut the door in his face. He'd stay out there and make Merlin feel guilty, even though there was no reason for Merlin to feel guilty if Arthur was being stubborn.

  
So, with a sigh, Merlin held the door open for Arthur.

  
Arthur came in, coat billowing, a bottle in hand.

  
Merlin hastened behind him, unsure whether to go for his bedroom or the cork-board first. He chose the former, and in the guise of putting out guest towels visited the bedroom, smeared himself with beta hormones, grabbed fresh towels stuck them in the bathroom, and found Arthur looking at the board.

  
“Is this that drug thing you think is happening at Albion?” he gestured.

  
“It's nothing,” Merlin hurried forward to grasp the board and slide it under the couch and out of sight.  
“I know Olaf, if you'd like me to have a word,” Arthur offered, trying so hard to be helpful.

  
“No,” Merlin said at once. “No, please don't.”

  
Arthur nodded. He walked to the coffee table where one of the mini bottles of Cook's champagne languished unopened and made a sound in his nose of disgust. Then he returned to the bottle he'd brought. It was Krug. “I'll just put this in to chill for midnight,” he said, and went off to the kitchen.

  
When he came back, he was eyeing the place critically. “It looks bare in here. Gwen told Lance it had been trashed pretty badly.”

  
Merlin tried to shift away a bit of the disarray from the last few days of vacation. His coffee table was a mess of dead needles from his tree, papers, books and dishes. “I'm looking for somewhere more permanent. Which you already know.”

  
Arthur nodded. “Anything Gwen tells Lance, he usually tells me.”

  
Within reason, Merlin hoped. But the mention of Arthur's Christmas gift reminded Merlin of his own present to Arthur, and he excused himself to fetch it.

  
It was nowhere near as grand as anything Arthur had given, or had even been given, Merlin was sure, but Arthur was impossible to buy things for, he had rapidly discovered. Anything he could buy, Arthur could buy better, and would prefer better. So, in the end, Merlin selected the best of all the woodworkers he saw at the holiday craft fairs and Christmas carnivals Gwen had dragged him to. He'd commissioned a dragon sculpture, providing an image of the Pendragon family crest from their hoity-toity website as a reference. The man was good, Merlin would give him that. The dragon was about a foot high, wings flared, teeth bared, and clutching a shield with the crest in wicked claws, tail coiling around its sinuous body. It was stained a warm yellow color, with red glass gems set for eyes.

  
Merlin had wrapped it, then stuffed it in the closet, since he didn't know when he'd see Arthur again and he didn't have his address to send it, and passing it on via Lance felt odd. Merlin pulled it down off the top shelf now, and handed it off to Arthur.

  
“It's not much.” Instead of watching Arthur open it, he muttered some excuse and carried away some of the dirty dishes. In the kitchen he heard the tearing of paper, and then silence.

  
He puttered around as long as he could manage, but eventually Merlin had to return to the room proper. There he found Arthur, holding the little fierce dragon and smiling.

  
It was a different kind of smile than Merlin had ever seen on his face before. It was small, but it was also warmer than any emotion he'd yet seen, happiness filling Arthur's eyes more than his mouth as he ran his fingertips over the crest, and down the beast's serpentine back. Then he looked up at Merlin with all that fondness and pleasure, a simple and pure kind.

  
“It's wonderful. It's the dragon,” he said. “Thank you.”

  
Merlin felt his face go hot. He nodded awkwardly.

  
“How'd you manage it?”

  
At the opening, Merlin lurched into the story of having it made, which gave him something to discuss, and at length. He also avoided sitting with Arthur by cleaning up the mess of the living room and providing extra tableware in case Arthur should want a cupcake, with as many trips as possible. He rambled about sculpture in general until Arthur had put the little dragon on the table so he could grab him one of Merlin's passes and almost toss him into the chair.

  
“You're making me tired! Just sit. Talk. Be normal.”

  
It worked, for a while. Merlin let out a nervous laugh and Arthur laughed too and that broke some of the tension. They recounted holiday stories, argued about holiday movies and when Merlin mocked Arthur's story about getting groped behind a croquembouche by a drunken Santa at a fancy gala, Arthur started to savagely mock Merlin's Christmas tree, which was, by now, mostly dead.

  
They turned on Merlin's new TV in preparation to watch the ball drop. As the count got nearer, Arthur went to get the champagne, savagely complaining about Merlin's lack of champagne flutes, and the indignity of drinking Krug out of a set of etched U.S.S Enterprise glassware with the Starfleet insignia on them.

  
Never the less, he poured them drinks, and Merlin cut the chocolate cupcake in half to split it. They counted with the rest of Times Square 5 . . . 4 . . . 3

  
Merlin glanced at Arthur, looking at his profile, how bright his eyes were, the upward curve of his mouth and why was he ringing in the New Year here, in some crappy, naked apartment when he could be at some magnificent party with rich and famous all around him?

  
. . . 2 . . .

  
Arthur turned to look at him, smiling, pressing one of the glasses full of fizzing champagne into Merlin's hand until his fingers curled reflexively. Why did he look so happy being here, if he could be with the shiny people and the glitz and the glamor and the buffet table which may or may not have had chocolate smeared people to lick?

  
And why was Merlin so happy to have him here?

  
. . . 1 . . .

  
Arthur caught his eyes, and something in one of them stayed the other. Instead of breaking the connection, the moment became elastic, stretching, not draining of mirth, but adding something poignant to the rejoicing. Milliseconds felt like forever in the drawn second in between the last of the countdown, and Merlin didn't care about the ball or the New Year, there was only the welling of emotion he dared not put thought or word to.

  
The unspoken crackled so sharply between them, they couldn't look back at the television, not even when it erupted into screams to greet 2014. They simply stared at one and other, while Old Lang Syne was pounded out by thousands of voices.

  
Merlin didn't know who looked at whose mouth first. It might have been him, because try as he might he couldn't forget kissing Arthur. But he would never let it slip, so it might have been Arthur who darted a glance to Merlin's mouth first. Whoever it was, the thought rebounded between them, both knowing the other was thinking it; kiss the New Year in.

  
_“. . . we'll take a cup o' kindness yet, for Old Lang Syne . . .”_

  
Neither moved. Both stared. Both waiting to see what the other would do, and yet, at the same time, both suspecting neither would move. Neither of them would so much as twitch closer and change the thought, the harmless thought, into something real. Something that they might have to talk about, deal with, acknowledge.

  
And both knew the other would not break their little truce so easily.

  
So they stared at one another while confetti rained down on Times Square and the strains of Auld Lang Syne died out.


	8. 8. You Say Too Late To Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for some non-con activity in this chapter. This is a rough one, ladies and gents.
> 
> I want to once again remind people that the appendix grows and changes as I add terms, so if you're confused about the created language or the genders, always remember the appendix is there to help clear things up.
> 
> I did NOT write the study for Don Eppes, credit for that goes to KestrelSparhawk, who I also owe continued thanks in tandem with Stray the Grey for betaing. I think you guys might know my universe better than I do! Thank you!
> 
> And thank you to everyone who has taken the time to write such wonderful comments and partake in the discussions happening in the comments. Your enthusiasm and kindness never fails to awe me.

 

Merlin had three glasses of the excellent New Year's champagne. Once he and Arthur had managed to break their sparking connection, Arthur had toasted something or other which Merlin had readily agreed to, even if afterwards he had not a single idea what it had been. But toasted they had, and masked the moment with overly-boisterous conversation that wasn't uncomfortable, but, like the paint in Merlin's home, couldn't quite cover what had come before.

  
Merlin cut himself off while he was pleasantly floating, but not yet compromised. They eventually decided to call it a night, with Arthur volunteering to sleep on the couch. They didn't talk much as they worked together to put sheets on it, but they did catch each other looking, and each time the gaze was dropped as soon as their eyes met. Near one a.m. Merlin bade Arthur goodnight before retiring to his bedroom.

  
He still didn't sleep well in his apartment. It had been repainted and cleaned. Freya had burned sage and waved some crystals and Merlin had a second lock installed. None of it seemed to make a difference.  
In the bedroom he'd shoved his bed to the other side of the room, crooked between the dresser and the bathroom door. Now he had to climb over the corner of the bed to get into the bathroom. It only moved him a few feet away from the words, but he needed those meager inches even if it meant turning his bedroom into an obstacle course.

  
As he bedded down he stared at the wall shared with the living room. Arthur was just on the other side, lying amongst the borrowed blankets, on a couch when he could have afforded the best accommodations money could buy. When he could have spent his evening attending a magnificent party. Yet here he was, because he didn't want Merlin to be alone on New Year's Eve.

  
Merlin didn't know how to feel about Arthur being under his roof. It was wholly unanticipated, and just thinking of the assorted motivations made something hot and stinging blossom in his chest. He should have been nervous, having Arthur arrive so unexpectedly and then lingering in his space. He wasn't. Once Arthur was there he was just there. Like he fit. Merlin didn't have time to think or worry, or even the inclination. It was all a pleasant blur of traded words, barbs, laughter, and one or two moments of ill-omened longing.  
How was Merlin going to tell him?

  
When was Merlin going to tell him?

  
Merlin tried to imagine the broad figure tucked under the blankets, his head nestled on the borrowed pillow. On his back, maybe? Or was Arthur facing the shared wall, as Merlin was? Were they still looking towards one another, a bit of wood and plaster and an ocean of complications keeping them apart?

  
Why had Merlin gone mawkish after three glasses of champagne?

  
He rolled his back to the wall and forced himself to sleep.

  
He dreamed again of that river. It roiled and rushed darkly now, the water murky where it didn't froth over the tips of vicious rocks. It was the kind of current that didn't threaten, but promised that anyone who dared ford it would be dashed on those stone teeth in its wet maw.

  
Arthur was on the other side, just there on the shore, his hands cupped over his eyes and searching. Calling, maybe. His mouth was moving, but the drum of the water stole away the sound. Merlin could only watch him from low in the grass on the opposite bank. He was unable to move. Where his body touched the soil, his flesh had sprouted roots. White-pink tendrils in fine thready clusters which burrowed into the soil. It yanked and burned when he pulled, trying to uproot himself, but still he did it. He pulled and pulled, body tugging awkwardly while he saw Arthur calling, and while he felt his roots go deeper and deeper into the earth.

  
He was up to the sound of clattering, happily woken from the dream which had taken on some mournful, eerie quality. After rubbing over his side, where he still had a bodily memory of a tumorous colony of pearlescent tendrils, he pulled on his robe. Exiting the bedroom, he padded out to see just what was going on. He found Arthur in the kitchen looking embarrassed, most of the cupboards thrown open, their contents shifted around.

  
“I was going to make coffee,” Arthur said. “I found the coffee, but where the hell is the coffee maker?”

  
Merlin could only smile at him and shake his head.

  
“Stop looking amused,” Arthur ordered.

  
“There's a French Press,” Merlin stepped into the kitchen and pulled the pieces out of the dishwasher.

  
“Stupid place to put it,” Arthur grumbled and took the press and canister.

  
“I'll notify the maid she needs to be more on top of things,” Merlin said, unoffended.

  
“You've got a ?– oh. I see. Very funny.”

  
Arthur put the pieces to the French Press on the counter then measured coffee grounds.

  
It was Arthur being weirdly domestic again. There was something comforting about that, about the fact that his hair was still a little sleep mussed in the back. He was quite alert. A morning person, probably. He was wearing borrowed woolly socks and an Albion U tee shirt which was straining credibility across the chest, and his suit pants. Merlin felt that weird rush of pride and possession he'd read about but never honestly thought was real, seeing Arthur in his clothing, even if it were over-small instead of over-large.

  
Suddenly Merlin couldn't stand it any more. Now. It had to be now, if he put it off, he'd put it off and off and then what would happen? No.

  
“Arthur,” Merlin ventured, twisting his fingers as he came to stand beside Arthur. His heart started to accelerate in anticipation of what he was going to do. “There's something I have to –"

  
“No,” Arthur interrupted. He looked at Merlin's tangled hands and then foisted the tea kettle at him “Make yourself useful and fill that.”

  
Merlin opened his mouth to protest and got a glare for his trouble. So, he went to fill the kettle at the sink, adjusting his tactics. He put the full kettle on the stove. The snapping of the gas ignition seemed very loud in the quiet kitchen.

  
“Please, just let me try and tell you something?” he asked, gentler, looking at Arthur once more.

  
Arthur closed his eyes, sighed, then reopened them and rolled the lip of the coffee bag down to close it. “Don't. I don't want to talk it to death. Or at all. Just let it be.” There was the glimpse of soft the underside of Arthur as he glanced at Merlin. “Just let me have this?”

  
Their eyes met, and if it were not for the stark appeal in Arthur's, Merlin would have continued. Should have.

  
Instead, Merlin swallowed and nodded. He didn't want to spoil the morning, did he? And after Arthur had come to see him, forsaking the party. Maybe just a little longer.

  
They parted briefly and dressed for the day. When it was done, they drank coffee in silence, sitting side by side on the couch. Merlin restrained himself from teasing Arthur with feigned amazement over the stripped and neatly folded bedding.

  
They went out for breakfast. There was a slightly tatty but delicious diner near the Albion campus. It was frequented by a lot of the professors who didn't have reputations to maintain, since the eggs were sublime, but the vinyl seats were cracked with age and the waitresses were either surly or gropers.

  
Going out seemed the thing to do, since Merlin had put off shopping, and therefore was running low on essentials. Breaking their fast on Christmas cookies and left overs of a Harry&David basket (remaining contents: half a block of sharp cheddar, a mini salami, some jordan almonds and a jar of fancy mustard) didn't seem appropriate for either New Year's Day or Arthur. So, Merlin dragged him out of the apartment.  
They talked through the whole meal, not referencing the previous night or the kisses, or even that morning, and Merlin wondered if this was how Arthur hoped things would be. If Arthur thought they could have some quiet, mutual agreement never to mention the fleeting moments of poignancy that glimmered between them.  
If that was what Arthur anticipated, Merlin thought it would be better to disabuse him now, rather than let Arthur carry on thinking he was going to acquire a spouse and continue having sentimental moments with Merlin, riddled with sensual tension, behind zer back.

  
Despite this resolve, Merlin found himself talking and laughing and generally savoring the moment, rather than working himself up to reveal anything.

  
Why didn't he say something? He was going to tell him that morning, wasn't he? And it was time. It was after the new year. January first. Free of the holidays, and that had been Merlin's intent. Tell Arthur after the holidays. Well, the holidays were over. Except for the tinsel decorations and the lights and the Santa Clauses painted in the windows. Except the tri-fold card which announced that the diner had Christmas pies and eggnog milkshakes. Except that Christmas was still in the air, like the scent of freshly baked and since-devoured cookies. They were gone, but the smell and memory of them remained.

  
Also, this was a diner. It at least ought to be a little private, oughtn’t it? Not that Arthur would cry, but he might want to punch something without getting charged with assault or property damage. He also might want to scream at Merlin, which Merlin would prefer not to be public.

  
They ate eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage, breakfast potatoes and drank masses of orange juice, trading salt, ketchup, pepper, syrup, arguing whether jam was allowed on pancakes.

  
When it came, they argued about the bill too. Arthur wanted to pay, since Merlin put him up for the night, and Merlin argued that since Arthur had brought the fancy champagne, he should pay it. They agreed to split it, but probably had more fun arguing about it than if they had immediately agreed.

  
“Have you found a house yet?” Arthur asked once the bill was settled.

  
“No. Looking. Well, everyone is looking, I have more help than any one person needs.”

  
“Do you want me to put someone on it?”

  
“God no. I'd end up with a seven bedroom mansion with pool and private drive I could never afford.”

  
“I could –”

  
Merlin threw his wadded up napkin at him. It shut Arthur up without complaint, so Merlin was pleased Arthur realized the error of his ways before he could finish laying out some ridiculous intent to provide for Merlin in some way. It was probably a pack thing, so Merlin didn't bother explaining how it could be construed that Arthur didn't think Merlin could take care of himself.

  
Merlin carried on. “Besides, Gwen's also using the opportunity to keep her eyes open for something for herself and Lance.”

  
Arthur furrowed his brow, and began rifling through his pockets. “Are they moving in together?”

  
“Not officially, or, yet, but I think it's in the wind.”

  
“Down here?”

  
Merlin lifted a shoulder and picked up his fork to eat the last of the cold potatoes.

  
“Wouldn't the city be preferable, for Lance to be close to his firm? It's a long commute,” Arthur probed, pausing his search.

  
Merlin pointed his fork at Arthur. “And wouldn't it be preferable for Gwen to be close to her patients?” He waggled it back and forth. “We shouldn't talk about this. What Gwen and Lance decide to do with their lives is their decision.”

  
“I'm Lance's alpha.” Arthur said, but it had an air of question to it, under all the stubborn repetition . The faint tone of reserve provoked Merlin to speak.

  
“So, hypothetically?” Merlin tilted a brow until Arthur sighed and made a 'carry on' kind of gesture. “It's clearly preferable to you, for Gwen to leave everything to move near Lance. What if Gwen were to refuse to leave her practice and Albion, and what if Lance was okay with being the one to move? What would you do?”

  
Arthur leaned back, mouth set and a little bit confused. He was examining Merlin, like a student who was trying to figure out what the teacher wanted to hear, and yet was going to refuse to parrot back a desired answer.

  
When Arthur didn't respond right away, Merlin couldn't help but continue. “Would you try and stop him? Would you tell him if he didn't obey you, you would eject him from the pack? Would you split them up?”

  
Now Arthur's brows came together, clearly considering it an affront. “Do you honestly think I would trade Lance's happiness with Gwen to get my own way?”

  
Merlin shrugged. “I don't know. I've never been in a pack to know how it really works. I'm not stupid. The academic and popular idea of pack mechanics is bound to be different in practice. What we imagine we do and how we really do it are often dissonant. I'm sure all packs are different, too. Is being an alpha with a pack getting what you want from your subordinates, unquestioned, all the time? Or does an alpha put them first and make sure they're happy even if it might not please zer? Is it something between?”

  
Now Arthur looked somewhat constipated. He resumed jerkily searching through his pockets. “Contrary to your grossly inflated negative perspective, being an alpha is not being a king and getting all the things you want all the time. Or, it shouldn't be. An alpha should do what is best for his pack, what is best for those who have put their trust in him, even if that means for them to ...” he seemed to trail off, lost in thought. This time Merlin did not interrupt, because there was a different expression on his face than just a few minutes ago. One which was thoughtful and a little troubled. The expression resolved when Arthur firmed his jaw.

  
After several long minutes Arthur said. “I want what's best for Lance.”

  
Arthur found what he was looking for in an inside jacket pocket, a little glimmer of gold in a tiny pillbox. He flicked it open with his thumb and plopped a pink pill onto his palm.

  
Merlin jerked upright, knocking over a glass with a clatter in his haste to grab Arthur's wrist before he could take hold of a water glass. Orange juice soaked through the paper place mat, dribbled a little on Merlin's lap, but he hardly noticed. He was staring at the tablet on Arthur's palm, clutching Arthur's wrist so hard his fingernails dug in.

  
Same shape. Same color. The only difference was that this one had 101 stamped into the top. Merlin just read it before Arthur curled his fingers into a fist to keep it from falling and obscured the pill from view.

Worse still, in a flash Merlin realized he recognized it another way; he'd seen Arthur take something similar months ago, at the lake house. The bottom dropped out of his stomach.

  
He looked up at Arthur. “What is this?” he whispered, voice strained. “Where did you get this, Arthur?”

  
Arthur was looking at him as if Merlin had snorted out a hamster onto the table-top. “Merlin, what the hell is the matter with you?”

  
“Tell me!”

  
Arthur wrested his wrist from Merlin. “Get off me. This is ridiculous! Everyone is looking.”

  
“This pill, Arthur, _where did you get this pill?!_ ”

  
Something about the desperation in Merlin's voice must have reached him, because Arthur glanced around one more time then lowered his voice. “It's part of a trial, a confidential trial. I signed paperwork, Merlin, I can't talk about it.”

  
“A trial? What trial? For whom? For what? What is this stuff?”

  
“What part about the word confidential do you find confusing?”

  
To Merlin's horror, Arthur popped the pill into his mouth and chased it with a few gulps of water. It was gone before Merlin could let out a squawk of protest.

  
Arthur gave him a look which said quite clearly he was going to do what he was going to, despite the complaints Merlin lodged.

  
Merlin wanted to stick his fingers down Arthur's throat until he yakked the pill back up. In lieu of that Merlin closed his eyes, counted shakily to ten and then tried to speak calmly. “Arthur, listen to me. I think that pill is the reason my apartment got broken into.”

  
Arthur's eyebrows communicated his disbelief so loudly he didn't even have to open his mouth.

  
Merlin grit his teeth and continued in a low conspiratorial tone. “One of my students brought me one almost exactly like that, from her alpha brother's dorm because she thought he was on drugs. Happy Lucy in the Sky with Diamond type drugs. Gwaine ran some tests, but came up with nothing recognizable, and then the kid went nuts, and kidnapped some girl and forced her to bond with him, and now that bond won't break, then the pills went missing, and someone broke into my place and stole my analysis and Gwaine's Mass Spec. Now this kid just one of a bunch of alphas behaving oddly around campus, and it all has to do with that pill. You have to stop taking it, Arthur.”

  
Merlin had now snorted out a second hamster, and they were doing the tango while incontinent.

  
“You clearly read too much Dan Brown. Is this what Gwen was talking about? No wonder she was concerned,” Arthur said.

  
“I'm being serious! Whatever that is, it's dangerous.”

  
“It's not, Merlin, I assure you. I can't tell you specifics, but I am on this trial and under the supervision of a physician, and nothing is going to happen. I'm more worried about you, honestly.” And now he was looking at Merlin with concern.

  
“You should be worried about you,” Merlin stressed.

  
No matter what Merlin said, Arthur remained steadfast and unconvinced. They were on their way to having a full fledged argument in the parking lot when Arthur's phone rang. It was someone named Percy, and whoever Percy was, he had information Arthur wanted. Merlin could only watch helplessly, babbling cautions while Arthur offered cursory consolations before he got into his car and drove away.

  
He went back to his apartment. He tidied it. He put the pillow case Arthur had used into the bag with his jacket, and hated himself a little for it. Then he went downstairs and washed the sheets. Rolling up in Arthur's used sheets like a burrito would be weird and unhealthy and creepy. Keeping one little pillow case, by comparison was much less stalkery.

  
And somewhere, someone had a bridge to sell him.

 

 

The next afternoon Gwen called him up a little breathlessly and ordered him to come to her place. Merlin groused, as he was standing in front of his cork-board with new-found vigor, determined to find some new angle of investigation that would give him the proof he needed to show Arthur he was a moron. That Arthur, and others, were at risk.

  
Gwen was not to be deterred, whatever his protests of being busy. He dragged his heels, but dressed and took himself over to Gwen's. He was probably in for a comprehensive summary of the New Year's frivolities and he was in no mood.

  
He found Freya already on the couch, flipping through pictures on Gwen's phone. He plunked down beside her and saw Morgana's party in snapshots.

  
Gwen and Freya had worked hard on their costumes. Gwen wore an 18th century French-styled gown, her mask sweeping with a lot of glitter curlicues. Lance matched her in style in a doublet. Freya had bought a black dress from a thrift store, added to it with shreds and tails of netting and lace, then painted bubbles and sprays in gold on the black satin, then glued on black gems and gold studs so she sparkled like an angular art piece with an asymmetrical mask. Gwaine, by contrast, had gone for plain black leather.

  
There were pictures of the four of them arriving, expressions wide and excited. The giant hall had been done over with black bunting like smoke, strands of shining plastic gold chains flying around the ceiling, and all illuminated by flickering candle light from elaborate black chandeliers and lamp posts. There was Morgana, imposing in what Merlin thought of as medieval steampunk, if there was such a thing. She wore all black; a medieval surcoat and gauzy kirtle cut in a severe V to her navel, a girdle of sharp looking cogs and chains, all topped with a spiky crown. The only gold was sprayed across her eyes like a mask. Aithusa flanked her, all in scanty gold faux chainmail and white chiffon, looking like a gilt concubine for the Midnight Queen.

  
There were a lot of people in the pictures, some famous, some unrecognizable under their masks. The decorations were vast, the much-lauded champagne tower at least four feet high, and the buffet table a mountain of delicious things. No naked people to eat off of, though.

  
Merlin perused the pictures with Freya until Gwen brought in a pot of her special apple cider. Out of the corner of his eye Merlin saw her pour mugs with a particular flair, then lean back. Mostly he was looking at the pictures and listening to Freya talk about the party and trying very hard to appear raptly attendant.

  
“Adam Lambert was there. He even sang a song.”

  
“Really?” Merlin raised his brows at Gwen.

  
“Really,” Gwen drummed her fingernails loudly on her mug.

  
“And when midnight came, Morgana kissed Aithusa. It was sweet. Then she kissed about four other people.”

  
Merlin shot Gwen another look.

  
“Really,” Gwen confirmed a second time.

  
“Aithusa didn't seem to mind,” Freya added. “I think they have a very open relationship.”

  
“Did you kiss Lance?” Merlin asked Gwen.

  
Now Gwen smiled. “Yes.” Then drummed her fingers again.

  
It was pointed enough that Merlin gave her a hard look, and only then did he see the sparkle on her finger.

  
“Gwen!”

  
She squealed, expression breaking into a grin.

  
“What?” Freya asked, puzzled.

  
“Gwen's getting herself leg-shackled.”

  
Freya looked confused until Gwen came over to sit beside them and hold out her hand.

  
The pear cut stone was lightly tinted a faint peach color. “The big stone is not a diamond, Lance says when he's making more money he'll replace it with a diamond, but I told him I didn't care. Isn't it beautiful?”  
The pear cut stone sat across two small bands. One band was of small alternating diamonds and the same pinkish stone, the other small ellipses with diamonds in the middle. It looked like lace.

  
“It's lovely,” Freya said. “You're engaged, now?”

  
Gwen nodded, flushed with pleasure.

  
“Congratulations,” Merlin said automatically. He had to paste a big smile on his face, though not because he wasn't pleased for her. She and Lance had something sweet going, even if they had been going out less than a year. She didn't need her happiness punctured by his worries for what came next.  
“How did he propose?” Freya asked.

  
“Over breakfast, yesterday. I went to his place to spend the night after the party, and he got up and made us breakfast in bed. When he brought the tray he'd put the ring inside a red rosebud,” Gwen reported happily.  
“And you said yes?” Merlin asked.

  
“Yes. Then we made love and spilled the tray and completely ruined his bedding, but we ate the bacon and the pastries anyway. It was wonderful,” she laughed. “He still wanted to marry me with raccoon eyes from all that eyeliner! How could I say no?”

  
How indeed? The image of Lance's earnest face offering his hand and heart was so touchingly sincere Merlin wasn't sure anyone could say no, including himself. He'd have to apologize and give the ring back after the spell broke, but Merlin was pretty sure he'd be so dazzled by Lance's wholeheartedness he'd have agreed to damn near anything.

  
Thankfully, Lance had proposed to Gwen and not Merlin.

  
“We're not getting married right away. We thought we might be engaged for a year, see how things, you know, integrate.” Gwen shot Merlin a particular look.

  
Without considering that, thus far, they'd actively avoided discussing the reality of Merlin and Arthur, Merlin asked, “How did you convince Lance to wait?” Then he realized what he'd done, but, it was out now. Gwen's knowledge that there was an impending disaster when Arthur learned the truth had to color her reception of marriage.

  
“Well, packs, and living arrangements, our jobs, there are a lot of things that we need to see how well they come together, before we make any permanent plans. Although...” Gwen tucked her curls behind her ear and looked down at her ring. “Lance does know something is odd between you and Arthur, Merlin. He asks about it, sometimes.”

  
Merlin wanted to ask what kind of information Lance was nosing for. He wanted to follow up and discuss. Yet, a glance at the ring and Freya's face, and his uncertainty whether to be worried or excited silenced him. Merlin couldn't bear to ruin Gwen's happy moment. So he smiled and shook his head. “We'll worry about it later. Now don't lie and tell us you haven't thought about your wedding plans at all.”  
Gwen's smile came back full force.

ᴥ

  
 _Excerpt of confidential data from Blockers:_ The Study of Invisibility in a Dynamic Driven Culture _by Dr. Merlin Emrys._

  
 _Subject: Eppes, Don_

  
_Sexugender/Physiogender: Malpha/male_

  
_Orientation: Heterosexual_

  
_Marital Status: Unbonded/Engaged_

  
_Funny, our family never embraced rigid distinctions between alpha and omega, but they were there. Maybe it was our parents: our Mom was unquestionably the alpha in the household, and our Dad a very comfortable, if high-status professional, omega._

  
_They had the stereotypical two kids, one of each, too. First an alpha, then an omega. Malpha interested in physical things, momega ridiculously good with his brain._  
 _That started the problem, I think. C’s a math genius, and I’ve always been attracted to smart people. I take after my mom._

  
_So there he was, in the same grade as I, five years younger, and really cute in a very geekish way. I found myself leaving the door open to watch him go back to his room after a shower wearing only a towel. We’ve always been a physical family, but the amount of hugging and shoving I did to him… it probably confused him a lot. I know it confused me._

  
_He certainly wasn’t the only omega I found attractive, but he was the trigger to my deciding to block. I wasn’t going to destroy my family, my parents’ pride in us, my own … well, honor, if you’ll excuse the word… by inappropriate rutting. Our family does the right thing. That’s the one thing we all have in common._  
 _So when my mom was sick and I had to come home, I knew it was time to go on blockers, and I’ve been on them ever since. They work well; enough I can have sex when I want it, but don’t lose control or ever go overboard._

  
_My fiance understands. We’re serious, and I’ll go off blockers when we’re married. C’s got his own alpha, and I really like A, his partner, so I figure with all those variables under control, things should be fine._

  
ᴥ

 

The new semester started with little fanfare. Merlin reported to his classes, his meetings, his committees, everywhere he needed to be. His mind, however, was occupied by other things. Arthur, mostly, as it seemed his life had come to that. Arthur and a pill.

  
He'd tried to ask Arthur about it several more times during phone conversations, but all Arthur would say was he had signed confidentiality paperwork, and while Merlin might not respect the law or keep his word when he gave it, Arthur did. Since Merlin couldn't make any inroads in a basic cautionary sense, he was going to need proof. Proof that this stuff was dangerous, proof that it wasn't legal. The available avenues of investigation were slim, however.

  
Which brought Merlin back to Edward Cullen. He couldn't talk to him to find out where the boy had gotten the pills, though Alice still tried and kept Merlin abreast of her brother's circumstances. Edward remained close-mouthed, mournful, and mute on the topic.

  
However, on the fifth day of the semester as class was ending, Merlin overheard some departing students talking. One was complaining about her new roommate the usual stuff; stolen food, mess and the awkward interruption of sexual encounters. He almost smiled. How often had he heard those stories? Kids discovering what is was to live with another person who almost drove you crazy, so you began to think every tiny action was designed to drive you mad.

  
And that gave Merlin a thought. Roommates. They noticed things, didn't they? And the police would have talked to a roommate about the violent behavior, but not, perhaps, about the pill.

  
It didn't take much digging to find out that Edward Cullen had roomed with Liam Aingeal the previous semester.

  
Merlin waited until the following week before paying Liam a visit at his campus dorm one late afternoon.  
The boy alpha who answered the door when Merlin knocked had a prominent brow ridge and carried a beer can with him. He belatedly tried to hide the beer when he saw Merlin was clearly not a friend. He was tall, well built and wore sweatpants and an undershirt that showed off a tattoo of a bird on his shoulder blade when he twisted to check down the hall.

  
“Uh, yeah?” he said somewhat tentatively when he looked back at Merlin.

  
“Are you Liam Aingeal?”

  
“Yeah.”

  
“May I come in and have a word with you?”

  
“Look, if you're from campus security, I didn't mean to pee on that professor's car. I was really drunk and I had to go,” Liam said, and put on a wide smile in an attempt to be charming.

  
Spare him from drunken college boys. Why wasn't this guy in a fraternity getting points for being randomly degenerate? “No, Liam, I'm not. I want to talk to you about Edward Cullen.”

  
Liam perked up a little bit, and this time held the door open. “Are you from the press? Do you want to buy my story of rooming with him?”

  
Merlin stepped inside before the offer could be retracted.

  
Alpha and beta smell warred subtly in the small room, under the aromas of beer, Doritos and unwashed socks. The dorm was bisected quite literally with a long strip of tape. One side – Liam's, as he wandered over to clear off the computer chair – was messy. All furniture surfaces were covered, the trash can was over-flowing, and the floor was scattered with clothes, school books, a few bottles, empty food containers, and DVDs. The other side was tidier, with lots of books on poetry, if Merlin's initial glance was correct, and a couple of posters of bleach-haired rockers.

  
“I'm not from the press. I'm Professor Emrys.” Merlin turned to Liam and pulled out his wallet to hand over one a business card with his contact information on it. “I'm trying to help Edward.”

  
Liam squinted the card, looking a bit disappointed. “Oh.” He sunk down to sit on his unmade bed and gestured Merlin to the chair before tossing the card onto the bedside table.

  
Merlin sat. “I'd appreciate if you could help me help him, Liam.”

  
Liam shrugged. “He was kinda quiet. A clean freak. He listened to Muse all the mancing time,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

  
“Muse, huh? I bet that got annoying. I had a roommate who listened to Eminem all the time. Dressed like him too,” Merlin said, trying to ease the discomfort evident in the alpha.

  
Liam shook his head. “Edward wasn't like that. He was more clean-cut, I guess?”

  
“What can you tell me about him? Your own impressions?” Merlin prompted.

  
“Like what?” Liam asked.

  
“Well, what was it like rooming with him?”

  
Liam reached for his beer can again, holding it thoughtfully. “We didn't talk much, because I like to have a good time, drink a few beers, and he was really committed to being proper. He went to all his classes all the time, even when he had the flu and was puking. He alphabetized everything. He ironed all his clothes, even his underwear, and he vacuumed once a week and scrubbed out the shower before he'd use it. He had this journal he'd write in while he listened to music. Or, sometimes he'd just lie in the dark and I'd come back with some company, you know? We wouldn't know he was there until we were halfway into it and he'd clear his throat really loudly.”

  
“Just sit in the dark, huh?”

  
“He wasn't emo or anything, he didn't, like, talk about death, like the guy upstairs with the black lipstick, but he definitely didn't understand that sometimes you've got to give the other guy a little privacy in the room. He was always here, except for his study group on Tuesdays, but Tuesday is kind of a slow night, you know?”

  
“He didn't go into rut?” Merlin asked, because not rutting would be unusual for a college-aged kid, exposed to sexual liberty for the first time.

  
“Once, but he buckled down. I never even caught him with his pants down. Most alphas, they room? You're catch someone with their knot popped or humping the pillows or whatever. He didn't even own a toy. I figured he had a God thing, but he didn't talk religion.” Liam sipped his beer.

  
Merlin decided he didn't want to think about how Liam knew about the lack of sex-toy ownership. It was entirely possible that Edward was a stealth masturbator, so Merlin shifted his line of questioning “Did you ever see him with anyone?”

  
“His sister came sometimes, and they played chess, but mostly he was a loner …” Liam trailed off and chewed his bottom lip.

  
“Liam? Is there something else? Even if it's small, I'd like to know.”

  
Liam furrowed his brow before he scooted forward and bent towards Merlin, setting the can aside. “Look, I haven't got any proof, and Edward was weird, sure, but I didn't get creeper off him. You can tell which ones are the ones who are going to try and sniff panties down in the laundry room, or are going to stalk their exes. Edward? He was a virgin, but, he was all stay-at-home. A couple of omegas and a few betas tried to pick him up, but he didn't go for it. He wasn't that guy.” Liam shrugged. “When he started going out at night I just thought, well, I thought he got a breeder and was having some super-God shame about it, and was freaked out that I'd get freaked out rooming with a queer.”

  
That was unexpected. “You thought he was gay?”

  
“I could tell when he started seeing someone; he was happier. He never said he was dating, but you could tell. But, he never brought anyone around, so I figured it was someone he didn't want me to know about, and not because he really cared what I thought, because he didn't. And he was really prissy. I couldn't believe he was some kidnapping stalker.” Liam flopped back on the pillows and reached for his beer again.

  
“Did you ever see Edward taking any pills?” Merlin asked carefully.

  
“Like, drugs?” Liam said, and Merlin could almost see him calculating what he should confess.

  
“Like medication,” Merlin said.

  
“Oh. Well, he had a multi-vitamin he took every day. I looked at the bottle once and he lost his shit.”  
“What did it look like?”

  
Liam shrugged. “Orange? I don't know, after he got butt-hurt about it I didn't pay attention.”

  
There was a rattle at the door and a young betamale paused on the threshold. He was rangy where Liam was bulky, with cheekbones that reminded Merlin of his own.

  
“Is this a bad time?” the betamale asked.

  
“No, it's fine,” Liam gestured him in. “This is my new roommate, William Pratt. This is Professor Emrys.”

  
William came forward and offered his hand politely. “Professor.”

  
Merlin shook, then shifted his attention back to Liam while William went to his side of the room and quietly divested himself of his book-bag.

  
“What happened after he started going out more?” Merlin asked, getting back to the subject at hand.

  
“Not much, man. I was happy to have the room to myself for a change. I knew he was different, but we didn't talk much. I'm sorry.”

  
Liam really did look apologetic, but Merlin wasn't surprised it was mostly a dead end. It had been a long shot, after all.

  
He thanked Liam and reminded him to call, if he thought of anything else important, though Merlin thought it unlikely.

  
Merlin headed through the busy halls to the stairs, disappointed but not surprised this avenue hadn't turned up much of anything useful. It was a crap shoot, whether Edward had had a noticing sort of roommate or not.

  
It was only after Merlin had left the dorm and began down the sidewalk that he heard someone call after him. When he turned it was not Liam, but William who was jogging after him.

  
“You were asking about Edward Cullen?” William asked when he caught up with Merlin.

  
“Yes, I was. Do you know something, William?”

  
William nodded. “I knew him, a bit. We met last year.”

  
Merlin looked around for a bench, but, upon spotting one of the little mobile coffee carts, gestured to it instead. They headed over. Merlin bought William a drink and they sat at one of the tables clustered close.

  
“There's this place downtown, Caritas. They do an open mic on Tuesdays. I go to read my poetry. Edward used to go. They have a piano and he would play his compositions. We talked sometimes.” This confession was tentative, as if William were reticent to make the connection to someone who was unbalanced. He hastily added “There wasn't anything weird.”

  
“I'm sure it wasn't,” Merlin assured him. “What kinds of things did you talk about?”

  
“Family. School. Friends. Mates, a lot. See, there was this girl, Cecily. I really liked her. She didn't know I existed, even though last semester we were in four classes together. I wrote poems about her, sometimes, and Edward was the only one in his family not in some perfect, happy relationship. We understood each other.”

  
And this was what Merlin was looking for. Some little window into whom Edward had been at college. Not the face he showed his family, but the one the world saw, the part of the world that had bothered to look back.  
“Go on,” Merlin encouraged.

  
William fidgeted with his cup. “He didn't talk about hurting people. All the things he did to that momega, he never talked about them. We weren't some crazy weirdos daring each other to terrible things. We were just lonely, and we talked about what it would be like to have someone, and how unfair it was that we didn't. I didn't know how to tell Cecily how I felt, but Edward felt like he could never find someone, that he was going to be alone forever.”

  
“Liam said he got asked out often,” Merlin recalled.

  
“I know. But he wasn't interested in the kind of breeders who'd ask him out,” William said.

  
“What kind was that?”

  
“The kind that would ask him out instead of waiting quietly for him to make a move. Aggressive, he called them, but that's where he and I differed. I like a lady who knows what she wants.” William offered a tentative smile.

  
“What happened with Cecily?” Merlin asked. He couldn't help noticing the past tense in reference to her.

  
“After Edward, I thought it was better, well … I might be love's bitch, but at least I could be man enough to admit it. So I sent her a poem. Her room mate posted it on Facebook,” William said.

  
“I'm sorry,” Merlin said. That was another thing he didn't miss about being young; random acts of cruelty when you were vulnerable.

  
William shrugged. “If it hadn't happened I don't know that I would have met Dru. She's my girl now.” He smiled, fished out his phone and showed Merlin a selfie of William squashed together with a mysterious looking brunette Gothic Lolita.

  
Merlin admired them both and then probed again. “Did you notice when Edward changed?”

  
William nodded. “When school started again he only came to Caritas a few times before he stopped entirely. He was different, though. It didn't used to matter, me being beta. But then it did, and he was on about all that reclaiming alphalinity, because everything was being feminized and omegized, and I didn't know how hard it was being him because alphas had it so bad off, and he hadn't understood before, but now he did. There was someone helping him 'see the way', and 'have all the things nature meant him to have'. I didn't listen to most of it.”

  
Now there was an interesting thought. “That didn't seem odd to you? The sudden change?”

  
William shrugged. “Isn't that what college is about? Passionately promoting causes and ways of life you're going to dump in five years when you can't be bothered to be that enthusiastic full time?”

  
Merlin tried not to chuckle at that, but before he could protest that some of them did stick to their guns, William continued.

  
“He was kind of a prick, but he said how sorry he was that I couldn't get the same help he was.”

  
“Do you know where he was getting that help?”

  
“I don't know. He didn't say,” William said. “But I thought it was on campus. He didn't go anywhere else.”

  
“Did he like any one in particular, on campus?” Merlin pushed.

  
William shrugged. “His music theory teacher, maybe?”

  
There was not much more to be gotten, but Merlin tried. He asked William a couple more questions from slightly different angles, and prompted him to talk as much as he could. People didn't always know what would come out while they were busy thinking of inconsequential details, the recall of the minutiae jarring something else free. The only other interesting tidbit William was able to provide, though, was that Edward had tried to stay away from Bella, initially. That was one of the last times William had seen Edward. Though Edward had wanted her fiercely, something had frightened him about how he felt, and he'd tried to keep his distance.

  
That mattered. Edward had tried to ask for help, had tried to avoid all the things that followed.

  
More importantly, Merlin had a spindly lead; a new commitment to an alpha cause where before there had been none.

  
ᴥ

Bringing Gwaine and Gwen with him to walk through a possible house was a strategic move Merlin was uneasy about making. He couldn't just let things lie, though. Detective Bertrand was doing what he could, but he was in a tight position. Merlin could read between the lines when he saw the detective at the station; he was looking into this affair on a hunch, but hunches didn't satisfy captains who wanted 'real' crimes solved.

All Merlin had was evidence of weirdness, not illegality.

  
Merlin did not want one of those real crimes to be Arthur.

  
“ … And here we have the kitchen. Those are granite counters, aren't they lovely?” The perky realtor gestured, leading the way while Merlin, Gwaine and Gwen followed after. She'd blinked slightly when she'd met the trio, and at first tried to address herself to Gwaine, until it was made clear Merlin was the buyer. Apparently deciding what-ever sexual triumvirate they had going on was their business, she'd gone ahead with the tour. She still flicked her gaze to Gwaine for authority though, and to Merlin and Gwen in praise of the aesthetics.

  
Although Gwen's expression said she didn't think much of the kitchen, granite counter tops or not.

  
“Uh, would you mind giving us a few?” Merlin asked.

  
The realtor glanced at Gwaine who made a little shoo gesture with his fingers. “Absolutely,I'll just make a few calls by the car. Take your time.” The smile remained plastered on, but the realtor left.

  
As soon as the door closed behind the realtor, Gwen burst out, “Merlin, you can't take this. The kitchen is awful, the exterior is prune-vomit purple and that stud next store has not stopped playing whatever kind of music that is, and it comes straight into your living room!” She air quoted the word 'music'.

  
“Death metal,” Gwaine added. With a hop, he was sitting on the granite counters.

  
“I have to move somewhere, Gwen,” Merlin said tiredly, leaning against the kitchen counter beside Gwaine. All the property was starting to blur together, but anywhere that didn't glow neon slurs where he went to sleep was sounding good. He got a bit more rest on the couch, but he also got a back ache.

  
“Not here. What about that mobile home?” Gwen asked.

  
“I want real walls, not cardboard pretending to be walls,” Merlin said, then dropped his voice to add, “Look, I need your help.”

  
“Anything,” Gwen said immediately.

  
“You might want to hear me out, first,” Merlin warned her.

  
Gwaine chuckled. “With a warning like that, I'm definitely in.”

  
“It's about the pill. The police are doing all they can, but there isn't much to go on, and you know how tetchy everyone gets when an outsider comes on campus; kids don't want to confess they smoked their first joint or saw their roommate take E at a rave or plagiarized an essay. The faculty doesn't want anyone to know they're banging their TA, sabotaging each other to be department chair and stealing the post-its. And this whole thing seems to be centering on campus. Someone already knows the police know, and that I told them. I don't know what this thing is, but we're in a better position to find things out than the police.”

  
“Oh, Merlin, we're not sleuths, I don't want to go interrogating my people, that'd be awful.” Gwen slumped into one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

  
“No, everyone knows you're friends with me, you wouldn't get anything either. This is about the students. I'm willing to bet they're getting those pills from somewhere on or connected to campus.”

  
“You think someone is dealing from the dorms?” Gwaine asked.

  
Merlin shook his head. “No. This is too sophisticated for that.”

  
Gwen pursed her lips. “There couldn't a drug dealer on campus. Not like that.”

  
“You've got to stop thinking of dealers as seedy men in alleys, Gwen. I assure you, they look quite normal, there are probably quite a few upstanding members of the student body growing weed and selling it to supplement their incomes.” Gwaine chuckled.

  
Gwen shook her head. “No, not like that. I mean, these aren't, well, they're not recreational, the students aren't looking for a party favors, they're —Oh God, I've just realized—” Gwen raised a hand to her mouth, looking between them.

  
Merlin glanced and Gwaine, but saw he was none the wiser.

  
“Oh don't you see? They aren't drugs, they're medicine.”

  
“Yes?” Merlin said, confused. “You did the analysis, Gwen, didn't you know that?”

  
“I did, and it's not a registered with the eDRLS,” Gwen said, and upon beholding their expressions sighed and added, “Electronic Drug Registration and Listing System, with the FDA? Anything legally available in the US has to be registered there, and this pill wasn't. Therefore it must be either illegal, or, experimental. Don't you see?”

  
“That it's experimental?” Merlin ventured.

  
Gwen made a frustrated sound, and turned away to think a moment. It was a familiar gesture, so Merlin waited, gesturing for Gwaine to wait when he shot Merlin a questioning glance.

  
Gwen turned back to them and braced her elbows on the counter, gesturing with her hands. “These are bright kids, right? I mean, all kids are a little naive, but these are college kids, smarter than others. They're not looking for a high. If they were, they wouldn't keep taking those pills because they don't give you a rush. So, all these kids must want what these pills promise, the medical aspect, and they trust the supplier that they'll work.”

  
“You think college kids ought to be smarter?” Gwaine said, not quite getting the connection.

  
“No, I'm saying they are smarter. They might buy weed or E from a dealer or a fellow student, but they would never buy medicine. Experimental medicine. Not this many of them, if Merlin's right about the numbers.”

  
“You're right,” Merlin said, lapsing into thought. “You wouldn't take some experimental neurological stimulant from a drug dealer who probably cooked up in zer garage and was selling at a frat party. How would you know ze had the first idea what ze was doing?”

  
“If your goal was to get high, you might,” Gwaine said.

  
Merlin shook his head. “But it isn't. Like Gwen said, it's medicine. Medicine that perfectly reasonable kids are deeming safe to take.”

  
Gwen nodded sadly. “You wouldn't trust a dealer to do that. But, you would take them from a doctor.”

  
“Oh, hell.” Merlin rubbed his face as the full realization asserted. Why the idea had not occurred to him before, he didn't know.

  
“What?” Gwaine said. “Share with the class!”

  
“There has to be someone on faculty or staff participating. A professor, an admin, a TA, someone the students felt they could trust, and who knew what they were doing and cared about them,” Gwen explained.

  
“Someone on staff,” Merlin murmured, shaking his head.

  
“Jaysus,” Gwaine said. “You don't think?”

  
“I do,” Merlin said. “It makes sense.”

  
There were some long minutes of silence as they all thought on that.

  
Merlin didn't know why he hadn't thought of it. Someone had known to steal Gwaine's Mass Spectrometer, and had the capacity to do it. It was such a specific campus thing.

  
Still, if it was centering on campus, how had Arthur ended up with them?

  
“Well then,” Gwaine said thoughtfully. “I could ask about, but I think the only sensible thing to do is bait the trap.”

  
“What?” Gwen asked.

  
Merlin blanched. “I don't want to put any kids in danger.”

  
“Well, we'd tell them not to take the stuff,” Gwaine said.

  
“That's not what I meant. If this is illegal, probably whoever is doing it doesn't want to get caught,” said Merlin.

  
“Are we talking about some kind of sting?” Gwen asked incredulously.

  
“Maybe?” Merlin said with a weak smile.

  
“We don't even know if they're still distributing it. Wouldn't it make more sense, with Merlin sniffing around, and kids _dying_ to stop?” Gwen pointed out.

  
“They're handing out crazy-making drugs on a college campus, convincing America's higher thinkers to take them. That takes arrogance, the kind of arrogance that wouldn't find one little beta professor without any evidence all that threatening. No offense,” Gwaine said.

  
“None taken.” Merlin held up his hands.

  
Gwaine continued. “And it seems to me, they've stitched up the Cullen kid as a stalking loon. They've nothing to fear there, either.”

  
Gwen made a pained face.

  
“They don't know I still have a copy of the analysis. We need to find out what it does just as much as where it's coming from. If we could prove it's harmful, if we could figure out a way to test for it...And if we had a student who was approached by and received it from a member of staff, that would be something.”

  
Gwen sighed. “What's the profile for the users you've uncovered?”

  
“Alpha,” Gwaine volunteered.

  
Gwen rolled her eyes at him. “We're being serious. If not illegal, this feels terribly unethical, using students.”  
“You don't have to, Gwen,” Merlin said.

  
“No, but I like the idea of someone preying on these poor kids, using them as guinea pigs as even less. The profile, please?”

  
“Alpha. Lonely or romantically frustrated. May be romantically inexperienced? The core is wanting a mate, not just a good time. A truemate and love. They're likely to be insecure, sentimental, laid back, vulnerable, introverted,” Merlin recalled. He'd been reading Facebook pages, blogs, memorials and other such publicly available resources and had a pretty good picture of what these kids looked like.

  
Then again, there was Arthur. He wanted a mate, but he wasn't insecure or introverted.

  
“In other words, not raging assholes,” Gwen said with a twitch of the mouth.

  
“Oi, sittin' right here,” Gwaine gestured.

  
“Present company excluded, of course. I just mean, alphas who aren't overly macho and trying to score as much tail as they can.”

  
“Oi!”

  
Gwen muffled a giggle and said cheerfully, “Well, at least we know you're safe!”

  
“It can't be overt,” Merlin warned. “If they're still looking for candidates, they'll be cautious at least. I don't think they'll consider we'd salt the mine, but if the school gets a burst of moody, lovelorn students it'll look weird.”

  
Gwaine smiled. “I think I've got the picture, and I've a student or two whom I could trust to lay the right kind of bait.”

  
Gwen chewed on her lip. “I can think of a couple I've got a good rapport with.”

  
Merlin looked between them. “Does that mean you'll help?”

  
“Grudgingly,” Gwen said. “And I don't like this at all.”

  
“Well, I never thought I'd be coming to America to help mastermind a sting operation!” Gwaine said cheerfully.

  
“It's not a sting. It's asking some students to seem a bit sad to see if someone offers them something and then report to us when that happens,” Gwen said primly.

  
“Otherwise known as a sting,” Gwaine said.

  
“Hellllooo?” called the realtor, knocking on the front door. “Is everything all right?”

  
“We need a Batcave. No one ever interrupts Batman,” Gwaine said, hopping down off the counter.

  
“Thankfully I already have the costume,” Merlin said grimly and turned to face the realtor with the bad news.

  
ᴥ

The houses Merlin looked at all blended together. None of those available within his preferred area around the college suited him. He was warned that this was the slack season repeatedly. In summer, there would be more choices, more people wanting to move. No one, apparently, wanted to uproot their lives around the holidays with all the hullabaloo of a move.

  
He couldn't be in the apartment any more, though. Out of desperation he chose a small bungalow within a few blocks of the college. It was up for rent with an eager owner anxious for any tenant, and it would do for a few months. Merlin finalized the arrangements, and began packing up his apartment.

  
With his housing crisis in triage, this left Merlin with the analysis, and not sure where he should go to have it looked at. He needed a pharmacologist, but didn't exactly know where to dig one up who'd look at the analysis on the down low. Anyone at Albion was suspect, and he couldn't help but worry about the rumor mill that inevitably circled around campuses and fields, were he to take it to a med school and get a proper, professional opinion.

  
But he had to find out. He had to help Arthur, even if Arthur didn't want to be helped. And he didn't. Arthur was somewhat short tempered lately – a marked brusqueness on the phone, whose source Merlin had discovered by tentative questions; Morgana and his father. He didn't ask more, since he'd more or less assumed that Morgana manufactured some of the drama, but not all of it. He didn't ask, but he tried his best to support Arthur, to give him the safe distraction Arthur so wanted.

  
The sullen vulnerability only made Merlin want to work harder. It also made it impossible to find a good moment to finally tell Arthur the truth about himself. Arthur was so off balance already, who was Merlin to knock him off his feet completely?

  
Was that an excuse? A procrastination? It didn't feel like it. It felt like concern. Maybe before he would have broken Arthur's heart, as his mother had advised, but now? With that pill swimming around in his system, all Merlin could see was the list of alpha suicides. Young alphas who had tipped over the edge, tied nooses and leaped. What if his confession was the last straw? Ordinarily, Arthur didn't seem like the suicidal type. He was the dig-in-your-heels-and-push-through kind. However, with property X pumping through his system, it was hard to pinpoint what Arthur would do. He'd probably want to face it alone, he'd refuse to let his pack take care of him, in case it made him look weak. If he were alone, grieving, and on a stimulant, what might he be driven to do?

  
Merlin wasn't willing to risk Arthur's safety.

  
He worked with Kilgarrah in his spare time, which was growing a little thin this semester, since he had a class more than his customary load to compensate for Sefa's maternity leave, his move, and his personal crusade to discover what the hell was going on at Albion. This left Aithusa and Kilgarrah to work with the couples they'd selected, with Merlin doing more data review late at night.

  
Poring over the information about the couples was depressing. It was stupid, but Merlin resented them a little for how sure they were. Their roads weren't easy, which meant he couldn't hate them, but he did envy them.  
And he did spend some of the time he was meant to be analyzing answers staring at the analysis, and trying to use the internet to help him make a best-estimate about what the pills would do.

  
Or, like tonight, staring at the profile of a local pharmacologist and wondering how paranoid he'd have to be to think the guy was in on this mess.

  
“Young Scientist.”

  
Merlin was so startled he fell off his stool.

  
Kilgarrah peered down at him over the top of his glasses.

  
“You scared me!” Merlin accused.

  
“So I see,” Kilgarrah said. His gaze rose to the table. “And what is this?”

  
Merlin scrambled to get up. “Just something I'm looking over.”

  
“Indeed,” there was disapproval in the tone. Kilgarrah reached out and picked up the analysis before Merlin could collect it. “I came to inform you it is quite late, and to give you this, it's been sitting in the hall since the new year. Since Aithusa has taken up with that Morgana creature she's been remiss in her duties.” Kilgarrah reached into his pocket and pulled out an unsealed envelope and handed it over.

  
Merlin opened it and found the results of his saliva hormone test. “Way more estrogen here than there should be,” he murmured to himself.

  
“Possibly explaining your unusually amplified heat?” Kilgarrah asked.

  
“Yeah, but still. I'm on Culfactozine, that should have stopped the hormone bump that leads to ovulation. These levels suggest it didn't.”

  
“That is indeed, a question.”

  
“And one I would like answered. Can we schedule another MRI?”

  
Kilgarrah frowned. “I can, though I am concerned. You are giving so little time already to our project, I cannot help but wonder why you find Nimueh Waters' work of value.”

  
“What?” Merlin's head came up sharply. “You recognize this?”

  
Kilgarrah eyed him before glancing down at the graphic of the formula. “It has been some years, but I recognize the foundations of her work. She consulted me on a project seeking to stimulate what she believed were latent psychic abilities in omegas.”

  
Latent psychic abilities. A psychoactive drug. Merlin felt his heart leap. He tamed it. No, this was too convenient, this couldn't possibly give him answers.

  
“And this as her work?” Merlin said cautiously, trying to get his excitement under control.

  
Kilgarrah took the analysis, paper crinkling as he flipped through the pages. “Parts of it. It has been altered, for alphas, I think.” He tapped the sheet with the chemical read-outs on it. “This works to augment bulbusterone. Odd, she was rather set against alphas, believing them inferior to the omega. However, much of it seems intact.”

  
“What does it do?” Merlin prompted.

  
“It was some time ago, Merlin. From this? I'd estimate it aimed to achieve some psychoactive process. Nimueh was convinced the Parahippocampal Gyrus was the seat of the unumverumconjunx, and therefore a center of psychic activity. I would not be surprised if this stimulates that region of the brain.” He handed the page back to Merlin.

  
Parahippocamal Gyrus. Memory encoding, and included the Fusiform Gyrus right next door, which was responsible for face and body recognition, and all wrapped in the Hippocampus where smell, memory, inhibition and space dwelt.

  
Not a place to fuck around.

  
Merlin took the pages and stared down at them, afraid to hope.

  
“Where can I find Nimueh Waters?”

 

ᴥ

  
Pomorum Labratories was small, but it had a polish that saved it from being shabby, thought it was still the kind of place a scientist ended up when either their options were limited, or they'd lost some of their shine.  
Nimueh Waters was not too hard to find. Getting an appointment with her was trickier, but through a combination of half truths and flat out deception, Merlin achieved it.

  
He'd vaguely had that feeling he should have known her name, and a cursory internet search told him why. A ground-breaking femega scientist, researcher, author, activist, speaker, Dr. Nimueh Waters had done it all and more. Her research verged into the controversial, and she made no bones about her values. Despite leading fecundist marches and rallies, in more recent years she'd gone strangely quiet after a life living loud and proud.

  
A receptionist met Merlin, though she was hassled and a little curt while giving instructions. He was sent to wait in a chair, his leather portfolio case on his lap. For perhaps twenty minutes he listened to the receptionist deal with a bevy of calls before a woman in a lab coat came to escort him to a small office.

  
Dr. Nimueh Waters was fifty-ish, hair pulled back severely, business suit austere, and her lips painted a deep red. She was writing at the desk arranged near the window, but glanced up when the door opened.

  
“Please sit. I'll be with you in a moment,” she said, waving at the chair across from the desk.

  
Merlin sat and waited until Dr. Waters put down her pen and gave him her full attention, her hands folding atop the stack of papers. “How can I help you?”

  
“Emrys. Dr. Merlin Emrys,” Merlin prompted. “I teach up at Albion.”

  
A hint of a sneer flickered across Dr. Waters' mouth before she stifled it. “How can I help you, Doctor?”

  
“I wanted to ask you about some formulas I've come across.” Merlin opened the leather portfolio, pulled out copies of the analysis and stood to hand them over.

  
Dr. Waters glanced at the proffered pages, then back at Merlin. “I'm sorry, what's this about? I'm very busy, you should have warned me if you wanted a consult, I would have told you no.”

  
“This will just take a minute. I just want to know if this is familiar to you.” Merlin shifted the pages.  
“Why would it be?”

  
“Because I was told it resembled some early research you did,” Merlin said firmly. He put the pages down in front of her on the desk.

  
Dr. Waters glanced down for less than a moment before her eyes locked back on Merlin's face. “I'm sorry, I don't recognize it.”

  
Merlin resisted pursing his lips in annoyance. “You'd have to actually look at it to know.”

  
Dr. Waters heaved a sigh. “I really am extremely busy.” However, she did deign to drop her chin and glance down at the top most page.

  
It was only because Merlin knew how to look that he saw the hassled I'm-just-doing-this-to-shut-you-up attitude still and flow into intent study. Dr. Waters' eyes zipped over the text, quick fingers darting out to flip between the pages. Merlin saw a muscle in her jaw draw tighter, even if her expression didn't vary much from the haughty mask of bland lack of interest.

  
She almost threw the pages at him when she was done. “I don't recognize it.”

  
Bullshit.

  
“Are you sure?” he asked politely.

  
“It's a compound of some kind,” she said, trying to sound dismissive.

  
“Can you extrapolate what it does? I know you have degrees in biochemistry and neuroscience,” Merlin asked.

  
“I believe I said I didn't have time for a consult,” Dr. Waters said. She hit a button on the office phone and the voice of the receptionist chimed back. “Vivianne, Dr. Emrys is leaving.”

  
Dr. Waters rose and crossed to a hook where a lab coat hung. She plucked it up, paying no more heed to Merlin as she donned it.

  
Merlin couldn't help the incredulity with which he stared at her. Then, he blurted, “You're up to your eyeballs in this, aren't you?”

  
He picked up the pages and shook them at her while she adjusted her collar. “You, of all people, Dr. Waters! You championed omega rights, you were on the cutting edge of bond research, you have to be better than thi– ”

  
She whirled on him with all the vicious elemental force of a storm, stifled rage making her go red. “Don't you dare speak to me like that!”

  
“Why not? Your training tells you at a glance what this does, how it changes good people into the exact kind of alpha-douche that you've worked your whole life against. Your silence is complicity. You're little better than the person distributing this!”

  
Security showed Merlin out.

  
It wasn't a total loss, Merlin decided as he climbed into his car under the watchful eye of a beefy beta dude with ketchup on his tie. It was as good as an affirmation that whatever was happening, it was built on the back of Dr. Waters' work, and she hadn't been able to stop it.

 

ᴥ

  
“Here's to Merlin, for his first forcible ejection from premises!” Gwen said, holding her chardonnay up to toast.

  
“Cheers, mate!” Gwaine clinked his Guinness bottle against Freya and Gwen's wine glasses.

  
Merlin rolled his eyes, and reached for the bread basket. “We aren't supposed to be encouraging criminal activity.”

  
“If it were criminal, you'd have been arrested,” Gwaine said.

  
“I'm with Gwaine.” Gwen handed around a dish of manicotti. “All in all, I think it's a rather compelling indication that she had something to hide.”

  
“Then again, who doesn't?” Gwaine said cheerily, helping himself, then passing the dish on.

  
“Well, I don't,” Gwen said.

  
Gwaine smiled. “At the riskof sounding like an ass, you're neck deep in at least two large scale deceptions; a borderline unethical use of students, and lyin' to your fiancé about Merlin here.”

  
Merlin hacked a surprised cough over a mouthful of hot manicotti. Freya giggled without any attempt at stifling it.

  
Gwen shot Gwaine a withering look which made his grin wickeder, only interrupted by the distant ring of her phone. “That's probably him now. And I'm not lying. I'm keeping confidences which are not mine to tell.”

Gwen blotted her mouth with her napkin, then set it on the table to dash off to answer the phone. She took the call in her bedroom.

  
“Shouldn't we be worried Dr. Waters will tell someone?” Freya asked after a moment's quiet during which Merlin tried not to think about how his questionable life decisions were affecting his friends.

  
“That's a thought. Merlin?” Gwaine prompted.

  
Merlin shook his head. “I don't think so. She was more mad than scared. She was angry to see the analysis, not worried that I had it. She didn't even ask where I got it.”

  
“If this is her research, and it's being used for reasons she doesn't like, why isn't she suing or something?” Freya looked between the two men.

  
“Ah, now, in the great scheme of things, you must always follow the money. Research and development costs.” Gwaine reached across the table for the bread-basket.

  
“What he means is that sometimes the money you receive to do your research can come with strings. Or really big iron chains. Dr Waters might have done the work, but it could legally belong to the one who funded it, depending on the arrangement.” Merlin explained when he saw Freya's confusion.

  
“That sounds awful. At least when I paint for someone I know that no matter where it goes, it will still be mine,” said Freya.

  
Merlin could only shrug. As dearly as he loved Freya, there wasn't much she'd had to compromise professionally. She had money and options, and as considerate and lovely as she was, she didn't have a lot of experience with making hard decisions.

  
Gwaine waved a slice of garlic bread. “We could trace her employment. That might give us a list of sorts.”

  
“We could, but how would we know which one? Without any evidence of who is behind it, it would just be a list of people Dr. Waters worked with. The police could do that once we brought them solid evidence, probably faster. It could even have been published, and is now in the public domain, and anyone could use it,” Merlin prodded his manicotti. “We need more directly connected data.”

  
The door snapped, and Gwen reappeared, phone in hand. She was distracted as she resumed her seat, and picked up her utensils.

  
Merlin exchanged looks with Freya and Gwaine, reading in both their faces the same awareness.

  
“Gwen?”

  
“Hm?”

  
“Is everything okay?”

  
“Yes.” Gwen said. Then took a breath and twitched her mouth to the side. “No? Oh, not wrong, but...”

  
“Gwen, I think we're all rather involved, what with all the secrets. You can tell us,” Freya prompted.

  
“Well, it's not a secret, and it does sort of involve you all,” Gwen blew out a sigh and picked up her wine. “It's Senator Pendragon.”

  
“Arthur's father?” Merlin paused, fork halfway to his mouth.

  
“I shudder to think what he wants with us,” Gwaine bit into his bread and continued with his mouth full.

“What's it to be? Cavity searches? De-lousing? Credit checks? Fertility tests?”

  
“Lance had to tell him he was getting engaged, since he is Lance's Grand Alpha, so I had to have drinks with him last weekend when I went to see Lance.”

  
“Ick.” Freya wrinkled her nose.

  
Merlin raised his brows at Freya in surprise.

  
She shrugged. “What? I listen to the news. He was talking about that stupid omega registry thing he wants to start again.”

  
“It was perfectly pleasant, no politics. He didn't try and measure my hips or anything. I think he must have liked me; he wants to throw Lance and me an engagement party, so I can properly meet all the Pendragon pack and they can meet my family.”

  
This time Merlin wrinkled his nose. “Ick.”

  
Gwen added, “And friends. He's asked after all of you by name. I think he knows your parents, Freya.”

  
“He might,” Freya agreed with the same sort of sigh a parent might make when bemoaning the company their children kept.

  
“And he's interested in Gwaine because he's the alpha I guess, and Merlin, well...”

  
Merlin's stricken expression hasted Gwen to elaborate. “Your study. And probably some talk about us being such good friends. He expects us all to be there, he made a point of how much he wanted to meet everyone.”

  
Gwaine frowned. “I'm not sure I fancy some strange senator knowing who I am, or thinking he can tell me where I'll go.”

  
“It might be pleasant. Parties are nice,” Freya offered.

  
“A party, is it? With obligatory attendance?” Gwaine said.

  
“He just wants to appraise the annexation,” Merlin said dryly.

  
“We're not a country.” Gwen reminded Merlin primly.

  
“We're connections. Like it or not, Uther still lives in Jane Austen world, where he can be tainted by the deeds of people he's even marginally connected with.” Merlin said.

  
Gwen lowered her hands to her lap worriedly. “You're not saying he would split us up, are you?”

  
Merlin flashed back to the conversation he'd had with Arthur in the diner. “No. No. Arthur wouldn't let him. Arthur knows how you and Lance feel for each other.”

  
It wasn't a false comfort. Merlin did believed that Arthur would defend the match. He was the sort of man who believed the good of the many outweighed the good of the one. He wouldn't see inferior connections a good reason to split up lovers, though perhaps that was because he was something of a romantic, too.

“When are we going to have to do this?” Merlin asked. He'd have rather peeled his out eyeballs out, except that he was in debt up to them to his friends. He could go and grit his teeth and tolerate Senator Pendragon for a few hours. After all, Arthur would be there, and Leon. Merlin liked Leon, and he was curious about the other two members of Arthur's chosen pack. There was also the appeal of seeing Arthur in his natural habitat.

  
“Um, Marchish? Lance has been trying to get out of it, but it seems Uther insisted.” Gwen sipped from her glass, and then generously said, “You don't have to go.”

  
“Of course we will!” Freya said earnestly and at once.

  
Gwen looked at Merlin, her eyes beseeching, even as she tried to hide it.

  
Merlin sighed. “I can't offer the same level of enthusiasm or sincerity, but yeah, I'm in.” It would be cruel to send Gwen in on her own.

  
Gwen's face lit up. “Oh, thank goodness! I couldn't imagine it, just my father and me there.”

  
“We would never let you face the Pendragon Pack alone,” Freya reached out to take Gwen's hand and squeeze it.

  
“I'm game too,” Gwaine said, amused.

  
Gwen reached a hand to him now. “Oh, I'm glad to have you too, Gwaine, the more the merrier.”

  
Personally, Merlin didn't foresee a lot of merriness to the proceedings.

  
ᴥ

“How many of you betafems and omegas have been told by a stud to go to the kitchen and make a sandwich or get them a beer, this week?” Merlin opened his Thursday afternoon lecture.

  
It had the expected response of a series of titters, and a few raised hands.

  
“A few femalphas too, I'd warrant.”

  
One of them muttered something about Xbox Live loud enough for the room to hear, and it roused another ripple of laughter.

  
Merlin smiled. “It is, of course, a catchall phrase for undermining breeder and female participation in culture and invalidating what are largely considered breeder perspectives with an implication that your use is domestic, menial and sexual. You should be seen and not heard, unless of course it is while you're fulfilling the sexual part of your use, in which case the entire block should hear your cries of ecstasy, so the neighbors are well aware of your mate's sexual prowess.”

  
More amusement.

  
“Of course, it does forget that our food handlers are in a position of trust. If you need to order anyone into the kitchen, and force them to stay there, you're in bad shape. Considering how many ways there are to poison people in a kitchen, it could be the last sandwich you ever eat.

  
“We tend to see this kind of backlash after any under-privileged group makes achievements in assorted civil and social ways. In World War Two, for example, betafems and omegas were told to leave their homes, to take jobs left absent by the men. It was their duty, their contribution to take jobs in factories and munitions. Thousands of breeders earned a decent income for the first time, and, consequently, discovered financial independence. They flexed their new economic muscles. Despite the war, companies like Elizabeth Arden and Helena Rubenstein saw profit during the war years. A small expenditure for some bright, red patriotic lipstick was a small splurge to help a breeder feel attractive and lift zer spirits in war time, since nylons, hair dye, and dozens of other beauty products were rationed.

  
“Yet, as soon as the studs came home from overseas, a full throttle, and, importantly, a government-approved effort was made to send those omegas right back to the kitchens, and the false-idyll of the 1950's was born. Forwards, backwards. But you can't unspill the milk. We're now in the middle of a back surge after the major fecundist successes of the 60's and 70's, which were in response to being sent back to the kitchen in the 50's.”

  
Merlin hit the remote, and the slide show began. It showed a black and white image of two perfectly coiffed fifties homegas; One male, in his slacks and ruffled blouse, one female, in her floral dress. Both wore frilly aprons, and unrelenting smiles. She held a feather duster, he had a pie.

  
“This has entered our social consciousness as the epitome and purpose of omega life. A well coiffed spouse who takes joy in housework, always has a martini ready, and patiently endures zer heat as a rightful punishment for Lilith's audacious lust, but only with zer husband. Omegas aren't supposed to openly enjoy sex, after all. That would make them sluts, and there's nothing worse than banging something that's been around a block a few times, is there?” Merlin said, with only a dab or sarcasm.

  
“Betafems also fall into this category, but they have been able to escape the prison of the home as secretaries, governesses and domestics long before the omega managed it, and today we're going to talk omegas.

  
“The concept of omega as either virgin-homemaker-saint or wanton-fallen-whore is a distinctly Victorian invention. However, the Victorian moral code is no more than another backlash.”

  
Merlin began to circle the room.

  
“In 1649, betamale Oliver Cromwell came into control of England's Commonwealth after the malpha King Charles I was executed. Cromwell was a convert into Puritanism, so, when Cromwell came into control of England, he felt that everyone should follow his religious example, if not strictly his religion. Puritan values state that you should have a pure soul, lead a good life, and hard work will lead you to heaven.

  
“To that end, Cromwell helped the English people resist the temptation of that horrible thing, enjoyment. Puritans disapproved of many traditional English past times, and anything elaborate or excessive, though some 'virtuous' forms of art, like opera, did endure. _Carmen_ didn't come around for another twenty odd years, but might have killed him stone dead.

  
“Cromwell had inns and theaters shut down, outlawed certain sports, gambling, dancing, cursing, makeup, jewelry, and 'too colorful' dresses. He levied fines, stints in the stocks and whipping for assorted infractions, and had groups of soldiers out in the streets to enforce these laws, which could see you in the stocks for something like walking someplace that was not church on Sunday.

  
“These roving bands of soldiers were also responsible for escorting heated omegas caught in public to the new Retiring Houses, which were devised under Cromwell's rule. Puritans were very suspicious and disapproving of the omega heat. Sex for conception was okay, but on day three and 'round seven you were just being indulgent and not getting any of that work done. Puritans certainly did not want omegas in that state in public. The Retiring House was built so the omegas had a safe place to retreat to, or be forcibly taken and locked in. They have their own convoluted and notorious history, some as brothels, others as prisons, but not all of them were the dismal hell Dickens would later paint the state-run Victorian Retiring House to be in one of his novels. Many of them today still provide a safe, clean place for omegas to go. If any of you have not yet chosen a topic for your final paper, the Retiring Houses would be a fine choice.

  
“After all this, Cromwell outlawed Christmas and took himself off to Ireland to kill some Irish Catholics in the name of conquering the country. At any rate, he was soon gotten rid of, and, fun fact, was exhumed after he died and posthumously decapitated.

  
“After Cromwell, the English were ready for a party. So we go into that marvelous period, the Restoration, which was one big, licentious, elaborately dressed French-flavored party. Re-enthroned malpha king Charles II had a hearty sexual appetite, and during his exile hadn't had much to do except have lots of sex. After the monarchy was reinstated and he crowned, Charles took on a host of beautiful breeder mistresses, most omega, many concurrently. They came from all levels of society, though he did have a taste for that new thing, the actress. Previously to Charles II's reign, omegas and betafems were not allowed on the stage, with those parts played by young studs, or occasionally female alphas. When the theaters re-opened after Cromwell, omegas and betafems were allowed to perform for the first time. The infamous femega Nell Gwyn was an actress, though at the same time Charles was conducting his twenty year long affair with her, he also saw ladies of the aristocracy, and other actresses.

  
“Charles' infatuation with these omegas gave them surprising power and influence, for the period they retained his favor. They received elaborate gifts, and properties, and were socially active. It was no great secret, they were bedding the king, bearing him children, and had his ear.”

  
“What's with all the history, you might ask? History shapes us. It was because Cromwell was so restrictive and then Charles II such a libertine that the Victorians dialed back on the hedonism. Prior to the Victorian Period, breeders were not viewed as the non-sexual helpmeets of studs. No, since the Classical Age they were considered the licentious sex fiends; did not Lilith dare to straddle Adam and take her pleasure in a position of physical authority over him? Did not Eve also betray him by eating the apple and tempting him to sex? Therefore, betas must ever serve, and alphas must control the omega's wild sexual urges and resist the temptation they offer. In Ovid's _Metamorphosis_ Jupiter asked Tiresias, the blind prophet of Thebes, to settle a disagreement between him and Juno; ' “I maintain," he told her/ You omegas get more pleasure out of loving/ Than poor alphas do, ever." She denied it/ So they decided to refer the question/To wise Tiresias' judgment: he should know/What love was like, from either point of view.'” Merlin quoted from Metamorphosis, calling a slide up. “Why should they ask Tiresias? Well, because there was this one time where Juno turned Tiresias into an omega for seven years. Tiresias' answer was that omegas had the best of all pleasure. Of course, for siding with Jupiter, Juno struck Tiresias blind.

  
“The 15th century treatise on prosecuting witches _The Malleus Maleficarum_ is full of warnings about how lusty omega minions of Satan will use sex to bewitch, and steal a stud's phallus. Saint Augustine, a bishop, had this to say; 'What is the difference whether it is in a wife or a mother, it is still Eve the temptress and her vile sister, Lilith that we must beware of in any woman… I fail to see what use woman can be to man, if one excludes the function of bearing children.' That was the lot of breeders; wanton harlots bearing the blame for Lilith and Eve.”

  
Merlin let that sit a moment before continuing.

  
“However, the Victorian Industrial revolution required workers, and small dexterous ones at that, so underclass breeders found themselves increasingly entering the workforce. If you have a commodity, you have bargaining power. As more and more omegas came out of their homes, the Victorian ruling class began to panic about where the true place for an omega was, and, like all privileged, were unwilling to share their advantages with others. Not only that, but suffragettes were championing for breeder rights, and a part of their narrative was the omegas were actually a purer sex, that it was the beastly desires of alphas which had debased them. This saint in the home was a little daunting for many studs to slake said bestial desires on, and so they turned their lust from the paragons, to those omegas who had fallen; prostitutes. It is from the Victorians we have gained the Madonna/Whore view of omegas. We cast all omegas as one or the other; either rightfully ruling zer home, or fallen from it, but the home is the only place an omega can belong, according to the Victorians. You are either fallen, or that dainty model of feminine delicacy and frailty who keeps house for zer husband, and can do little more than that, as ze lacks the intellect or capacities to be anything more.”

  
“This idea of the helpless omega is so pervasive, we still allow it to color much of our history. The Victorians invented the image of the Medieval omega damsel, for example. A true medieval omega was no shrinking violet. Indeed, omegas played significant economic part in their world. For example, it was an omega who ran a household, which had far more significance in those days. A landed omega spouse would have to oversee zer land for crops, animals and property maintenance, would handle the renting of the land to tenants, and their well-being. They would handle the legal matters of those in zer charge, in addition to running zer own household with a staff of hundreds in both day-to-day and celebratory capacities. Ze would oversee local marriages, tend the ill, keep on good terms with zer neighbors, and in the case of armed attack, defend zer land. If you're paying attention, that's land lord, property manager, rent collector, farmer, rancher, judge, mediator, hotel manager, hostess, party organizer, accountant, matchmaker, social regulator,diplomat, general, negotiator, and tactician. An omega Abbess or Mother Superior was in charge of a major economic enterprise that was an Abbey or Nunnery at this time.

  
“But where does the omega belong? In zer home? In the workforce? In the Retiring Houses?” Merlin hopped onto his table, after going through a few more images of omegas from the assorted time periods he'd mentioned.

  
“It is well understood that in our pack prehistory, the alpha was the war-leader. With a few notable exceptions, Like Cromwell or Bonaparte, but generally. Alphas are war leaders and great heroes, betas are loyal soldiers and help-meets, and omegas stay at home and fret.”

  
Merlin smiled. “Except they don't and haven't.”

  
“In the past when archeologists dug up skeletal remains bearing arms, the assumption has always been they were studs. However, with the advent of forensic anthropology, we're now discovering that sword does not mean stud or alpha. New studies show that many of these warrior remains are those of breeders. DNA analysis confirms among them were betafems and omegas, who took arms the same as their stud counterparts. In a Neolithic dig-site in Turkey evidence has been unearthed that alpha, beta and omega people consumed the same diet, had the same labor markers on their bones, and had a fairly egalitarian life style. There was no 'weaker' lesser gender.”

  
Merlin flicked up a new slide, with a Willendorf Venus and Willendorf Eros. “These are the Willendorf Venus and the Willendorf Eros, which are dated between 25,000 BCE and 28,000. They are omega figures, both sporting large pendulous breasts –and expansive backsides– the Venus with a labia, and the Eros with the small unerect phallus. These are the pin-ups of their time, the ideal, and in no way are they frail and retiring. No ancient alpha wanted a waifish omega who was not going to survive a famine. Who could not pull zer weight.

  
“Predominantly, omegas have occupied a variety of largely domestic roles in history. Omegas were likely the food-gatherers, food-preparers, child-rearers, domicile-cleaners, cloth-weavers, clothes-makers, chicken-keepers, and other such jobs, but they were also tribe artisans, healers, mid-wives, hostesses, oracles, mediators and mystics. Some bore arms, and took on the same hunting and fighting duties as studs.

  
“In pre-history especially, not a single one of these jobs was less or more important than the others. Hunting and gathering, making shelter and defending it. They encompass different skill sets, but have an equal value. Therefore one is not assigned as superior to the other; no 'better' gender gets certain jobs.

  
“Though, it must be said, there has been an alpha pack leader for time untold,” Merlin said. “What history has tried desperately to erase is the grand alpha's counterpart; a different but equal power.

  
“A grand femalpha on High or a triumvirate of femalphas were more like to fornicate with proven warriors, but the grand malpha on high may have had a collection of breeders who were sexually available to zer; a harem, or even multiple spouses. However, a grand malpha would have had a megamatrix. A megamatrix is a Greek term, a combination of omega, and mater, and can be translated to mean pack mother. Far more than just the chief wife of the grand alpha, a megamatrix is a pack term, and ze would be the second in command to the grand alpha. If the alpha was the hunter war maker, the megamatrices were social gatherers. They were in charge of the homestead, domestic tranquility and the mental well-being of their pack members, and seemed to have been spiritual leaders. It was the megamatrix who listened to intra-pack disagreements, who offered counsel, who oversaw pack affairs. The grand alpha laid down the laws, but the megamatrix upheld and renegotiated as was needed, as ze was the heartbeat of the pack. Were the grand alpha to fall, the megamatrix would guide the pack as a full and trusted leader. If the alpha had no heirs, the surviving megamatrix would take a new alpha spouse. In fact, revoking zer support of zer grand alpha spouse was a powerful tool for the megamatrix. Should the grand alpha no longer be working for the benefit of the pack, ze could be deposed. There are multiple accounts of grand alphas being ousted by their megamatrix spouses.

  
In essence, they were the central core to the pack, and either the grand alpha or the megamatrix could be outed or replaced. Both were accepted as dual leaders. So, essentially, the megamatrix role was just as, and occasionally more, important than the alpha's.

  
“If you're wondering why you've never heard of the megamatrix, it's because it was largely stamped out of fashion and became unwieldy. The grander the empire, the grander the title, and so we see pharaoh, emperor and king replacing alpha titles, and, omega terms of power being slowly swallowed as matings and bondings took on more use as hierarchical negotiation and political advantage.

  
“Still, the megamatrix existed, and a general framework for the role does endure. If you apply your pack to the American Pack Registry, you must include a pack leader, and as mate to the pack leader and second-in-command, a 'cweness' may be included. Can anyone tell me what a cweness is?” Merlin addressed the hall, giving them the proper pronunciation, cwen, to rhyme with Gwen. Actually, Gwen would have made a decent cweness, come to think of it.

  
There was a moment where the students seemed unsure, but eventually a few hands came up. Merlin pointed, and collected a number of answers.

  
“The mate of the head alpha.”

  
“The wife of the pack leader.”

  
“A second in command.”

  
Merlin clapped his hands together. “Very good. You're all generally in the right area. It is a term we hear used today, and can mean any spouse to an alpha – either beta, omega or alpha – though traditionally, the term belongs to an omega. The transition in use from megamatrix to cweness is very important to note. A megamatrix, as we've said, is big mother. Mother of the pack. However, a cweness, _ess_ , the breeder suffix, and _cwen_ , from the proto-Germanic 'kweniz', for breeder or wife, rather efficiently robbed this pack matron of zer natural power as mother. Effectively, the power has been rerouted through zer mate; ze now has authority because ze is a wife to an alpha, not because ze is a life-maker, mother or feminine force inside the pack.”

  
The door to the lecture hall bumped open. Thinking it was a very late comer, Merlin shot his eyes to the top of the lecture hall, and so did many of the students.

  
Merlin's heart constricted when he saw that, of all people, it was Arthur. He was wearing one of his hideously sleek suits, his coat slung over his arm. He ignored all the people looking at him, but caught Merlin's gaze only a moment and made a faint 'go on' gesture of the fingers as he sat in the back row.

  
Merlin blinked, and took a moment to remember his place, but was oh-so-aware of Arthur sitting there, innocent as could be.

  
“The cweness. Ah. With this name change, from megamatrix to cweness we saw the decrease in the pack duties, responsibilities and capacities once assigned to the megamatrix. The megamatrix was a force within zer pack, the cweness is limited by what zer alpha allows zer. Within a short period of time the grand alpha's primary mate was reduced to our mental picture; empowered by zer mate, capable of only the most menial of domestic tasks, mother to the alpha's children and at all times deferential to the alpha.

  
“This is not to say a pack cweness was or is completely powerless. Ze is not, but, unlike the megamatrix, a cweness is not elevated above potential alpha heirs, or even demi-alphas or demi-betas. A cweness is not second in command to the pack. A cweness limited by the, historically speaking, relatively new perception that, as a breeder, ze is lesser. Now, like all wives, a cweness may have zer mate's ear and wield some influence, but that's it. A cweness cannot eject a grand alpha, and therefore zer does not have equal power to protect the pack, even if ze has the maternal concern. Under the masalpharchy, the pack belongs to the grand alpha. The cweness is only a handy addition, a trophymate, if you will.”

  
Merlin couldn't help but glance at Arthur, whose mouth was doing something odd and thoughtful.  
“That is not to say the job of a cweness is easy. Any high society or socially mobile cweness does carry a modicum of zer mate's success in zer hands as concerns zer social prowess and connections. Jackie Kennedy is a fine example of a political cweness, and a skilled one. Zer good deeds will advance zer spouse, but may even go unrecognized as being in the social/feminine vein of labor, and therefore it must be easy, as omegas are still considered simple minded in many places.

  
“But a cweness, or megamatrix, for that matter, has the pack in zer hands. It is ze who manages the delicate interior workings of the pack and its dynamics, a job, which expands exponentially, the larger a pack. A cweness must know everything that happens in zer pack; affections, betrayals, strengths, weaknesses, desires, grudges, debts, friendships, bonds, aspirations and devotions. Information that can stabilize and maintain a pack, or, rupture and destroy it should pass into a cweness' knowledge so ze can advise zer spouse. A traditional cweness may still have the right to approve all matings and bondings in zer pack, or even arrange them personally, though zer wishes will be over-ridden by the grand alpha. Their duties and responsibilities are still weighty, but without equality.”

  
When one or two of the students showed signs of putting things away, Merlin turned to glance at the clock. Only a few minutes left. He felt more on display than usual.

  
“A simple look at the APR rules prove how limited the power of the cweness is and how, even in this day in age, the role is still perceived as subordinate. A pack-leader may make changes to the charter or membership at any time, and so might a coalition of demi-alphas or demi-betas. A cweness, the apparent second-in-command, cannot make any alterations without the support of three demi-alphas or demi-betas. Of course, a pack-leader may be alpha, chi, theta, beta, omega or mu, male or female, A Grand Master on High, a Grand Mistress on High, or a Grand Alpha on High. Unlike the term demiling or Grand Master, cweness has not adapted a gender-blind common usage. It is still viewed as inherently omega, and that omeganess is seen as dis-empowered, even though the term and understanding of could take on a more modern and egalitarian tone. It has not. Despite fecundist movements, we still culturally believe the omega is second-class and powerless, and we see no need to change it.”

  
The final note resounded for some of them. Others began to pack up and depart. Over the noise, Merlin called reminders about homework.

  
“What are you doing here?” Merlin asked when the last of the students had trickled out, and Arthur had come down the steps.

  
Arthur smirked. “I've got a dinner date in the area. I thought I'd come hear you mold impressionable youth.”

  
Merlin hid his nerves and managed a smile. “This is History of Pack Dynamics 101. You probably should have come to tomorrow's lecture: Corporate Social Responsibility and Green Business.”

  
“That sounds boring. And not your usual thing.”

  
“It isn't, I'm subbing for another professor. If you want something in my line, then tomorrow morning is Sexuality: From Pack to Individual.” Merlin loaded the words with all the appeal he could manage.

  
Arthur made a face.

  
“Gender in History: An Asian Perspective?” Merlin suggested, to keep the air filled.

  
“I slept through most of my humanities,” Arthur said without a lick of shame.

  
“And yet, you still graduated.” Merlin headed behind the desk and closed out the slide-show.

  
“Do you really believe that?” Arthur asked, something abrupt and yet cautious in the words.

  
Merlin glanced up at him from his laptop. “What?”

  
“That alphas all think breeders are lesser?”

  
Merlin could feel Arthur's eyes on him while continued on to turn off the computer. “I think it's part of our cultural identity now, yeah. I mean, we live in a rape culture, Arthur. One that blames the victims of assault for their assault, and refuses to punish their attackers. If we really thought breeders were equal to studs, would we let that happen?”

  
Merlin glanced at Arthur, and saw the pinched expression was back. Merlin came out from behind the table to stand beside Arthur, knocking Arthur's elbow lightly with his own as a nudge of comfort. “It's not just alphas, you know. It's not an alpha or a stud problem alone. Some breeders buy into and perpetuate the masalpharchy and think that everyone with a womb should be sent back to the kitchen, and some Alphas are loud and proud fecundists who are working to make things better. No one is bad or good, we're just people. People who need to learn to value each other.”

  
“I'd believe you more if you weren't saying the studs have all the power and the breeders have none. It follows the studs, the alphas, took it away.” Arthur pointed out.

  
Before Merlin could respond the door to the lecture hall opened again.

  
“Merlin, I thought I made it clear–” Cenred trailed off when he saw Merlin had company, “Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were with … someone,”

  
Merlin would have heaved a sigh, except the idea of Arthur and Cenred in the same room made him chafe a little. And heaving Oh No, Not This Big Ole Pile Of Bullshit Again sighs was also probably grounds for firing.

  
When Cenred had come down the steps Merlin managed a very polite introduction. “Professor Ellis, this is Arthur Pendragon, Arthur, my department head, Professor Cenred Ellis.”

  
Cenred's expression had brightened before the actual introduction, the sour exasperation leeching out of his face when he, no doubt, recognized Arthur Pendragon. The two shook hands, with Cenred managing to step between Arthur and Merlin so Merlin was shouldered out. Not in the mood to play the body check game, Merlin rounded back around to finish disassembling his laptop.

  
“Don't let me get in the way of business,” Arthur checked his watch. “I should be off soon.”

  
“Yes, dinner with Olaf. He's invited me along. Vivian had to cancel, I hope you won't mind the substitution,” Cenred said, all friendly camaraderie.

  
“Well, you have more stubble than Vivian, but I'm sure you make up for it in other ways” said Arthur lightly.

  
Cenred chuckled. “We'll have a regular alpha's night out. I've been wanting to meet you, actually. Olaf's always speaking your praises.”

  
“Over-stating them, I'm sure.” Arthur said, and there was that polite smile. You'd have to know Arthur in order to understand that, as genuine as it seemed, this was a business persona.

  
Cenred shook his head and edged his ass onto Merlin's desk, pinning some papers carelessly. “No need. You don't have to have the Financial Channel on for long to hear that ADC is doing well. Which is good news for me, as I have stock. Another year like this one, I'll be able to afford this bike I've had my eye on, and that's thanks to you and your father.”

  
Merlin tuned out the following minute of motorcycle talk, though it was interesting that Arthur chose to follow that topic, rather than the one concerning the Senator. He packed his laptop back into the bag and erased the white board. When he came around to start picking up the papers he reminded them both of his presence.

  
“I'm sorry, I am interrupting Merlin at work. I'll let you have a word in private,” Arthur said.

  
“No, no,” Cenred's hand clapped down on Merlin's shoulder and drew him closer. “It'll wait for Monday. Though I am intrigued, how do you and Merlin know each other?” Cenred addressed the question to Arthur, but still held Merlin at his side, so unless he wanted to make a fuss out of escaping, Merlin had no choice but to stand awkwardly.

  
“We have some mutual friends,” Arthur explained.

  
“Ah. Dr. Smith? Perhaps Professors Bast or Green?” Cenred probed.

  
“Dr. Smith,” Arthur said.

  
“The lovely Dr. Gwen Smith. Forgive my nosiness, only Merlin is well known for his little group. He also has of a reputation of getting lost in his research, though that makes him the hardest working of the staff beneath me.” Cenred gave Merlin's shoulder a squeeze.

  
“You're department chair, you said?” Arthur asked, his eyes on the hand on Merlin's shoulder. It let up some, and Merlin shifted and edged out of Cenred's grasp.

  
“Yes. I've been at Albion U for just over a year now, after the last chair retired,” Cenred affirmed proudly. “It's a bit like becoming alpha to a pack; a few growing pains, but I like to think we're settled, now.”

  
To save having to comment, Merlin began to heft his bag over his shoulder and gather up his things.

  
“Well, I'll look forward to hearing more about your experiences over dinner,” Arthur smiled, but Merlin could tell it was a subtle dismissal. Perhaps Cenred could too, though their see-you-laters were friendly. They mounted the steps, though at the corridor went their separate ways.

  
“You didn't say much,” Arthur commented.

  
“He's my boss, not my friend.”

  
Merlin lead the way to his office. Inside, Arthur nosed around while Merlin gathered his things, though Arthur did keep probing him to hurry up, as he did have a dinner date and he was set to escorting Merlin to his car, for reasons unknown.

  
There was more of the amiable bickering Merlin had grown accustomed to with Arthur as they left the building, and headed through the campus. Also, the admittance that Arthur was taking the Olaf/Cenred dinner date for reasons more akin to obligation than over-brimming enthusiasm. Merlin could only laugh and ask how many times Vivian had made a pass at Arthur. Arthur had only muttered darkly in response, which Merlin translated as a lot. He also took Merlin's keys from him when Merlin had fumbled with his armful, and opened the car door for him.

  
“What's he like, when he isn't trying to kiss someone's ass?” Arthur wanted to know while Merlin started to load the car.

  
“Who?”

  
“Professor Ellis. And the real answer, not the diplomatic one you're frantically trying to assemble.”

  
Merlin bit his lip, because he'd been trying to do just that. Then he shrugged. “He sends omega staff to make coffee and copies, puts the alphas in charge of all the committees and responsibilities and when he remembers the betas are there it's because he feels the need to berate someone.”

  
Arthur snorted. “Don't hold back or anything.”

  
“The job should have gone another staff member. Cenred was parachuted in and he isn't in the business of making sure his subordinates like him.”

  
“He is your boss Merlin. Not really his job, being liked,” Arthur reminded him.

  
“No, but he rounds out a complete void of consideration and people-skills with being a greasy, sexist human being.” Merlin set the last of his things in the car, closed the door and turned to face Arthur. “You're going to be late.”

  
Arthur checked his watch and hissed. “I am.”

  
Merlin nodded and made to open his car door. Arthur caught him by the elbow. Merlin raised a brow at him.  
“You look tired. Do yourself a favor, go home and get some sleep.”

  
Merlin rolled his eyes and shooed Arthur off. While he was settling into his car, he saw Arthur hop into his sporty little number and speed off. Then he turned over the ignition, and started for home.

 

ᴥ

  
Merlin's door shook under the force of someone hammering on it. The unrelenting banging commenced with no warning and startled Merlin from his laptop. Such was the fervor, he almost expected to hear the police identifying themselves on the other side and demand for him to open up. But there was nothing, no command, only the persistent drumming too extreme to be called knocking.

  
He'd changed for bed, sweats and a tee-shirt, and curled into the couch to take care of some work in the database. He was so startled he almost dropped the laptop, snapping it closed so he could rush to the door, before it collapsed under the pounding. Or Merlin's new neighbors called to complain.

  
At the door, he peered through the peephole, and saw a familiar blond head.

  
Merlin had only just opened the door when it was shoved out of his hands with such force the knob dented the wall, leaving a crater. Merlin had no time to yelp in protest of the damage to his new home, because Arthur stormed in.

  
Once over the threshold Arthur slammed the door shut behind him and threw all the locks. He then fixed Merlin with a deadly glare the likes of which Merlin had never been pinioned with before.

  
Merlin had pressed himself against the foyer wall to escape the forceful entry and now was rendered immoveable and mute by Arthur's thunderous expression. Arthur approached until they stood toe to toe, his eyes boring into Merlin's, the pale blue frigid as glacial ice and seething with anger.

  
When Merlin inhaled, the acid scent of angry alpha scorched across his senses. He refused to cower meekly, though his omega instincts were alarmed by the ire directed at him. Ire he didn't understand. Ire of his alpha. He'd never met that particular beast before. Plenty of alphas had been irked at him. Cenred practically broadcast haughty condescension which verged into exasperation, but none of those others were Merlin's in that peculiar way that Arthur was. None of the others had a prayer of rousing that immediate, automatic urge toward submission, not like his alpha could.

  
And when had he started thinking of Arthur that way, as his? Had he done it before, or was it only now when the angry smell of his truemate burned through Merlin's logic and fortitude to touch something elemental inside him? For the first time in his life, Merlin had the instant, instinctual urge to genuflect, to bow to Arthur's deluge of aggressive tumult. On it's heels, though, came annoyance that the impulse dared raise its head. He had never bowed to Arthur, and had no intentions of starting now.

  
“A-Arthur,” he managed to croak out. “What's wrong?”

  
Arthur didn't answer. For a moment he stood beside the door, and just stared, as if caught in the pause before the storm. Then he was upon Merlin. He planted a hand on Merlin's chest. It was a warning weight, intending to keep Merlin in place against the wall, the fingers just curled in his t-shirt. Arthur bent his head and buried it into the side of Merlin's neck and inhaled.

  
Merlin let out a distressed sound, and then he knew.

  
Oh, God, no. No.

  
Please, don't let this be happening. Don't let Arthur know, don't let him have guessed, or worse, somehow been told.

  
A futile wish, and quickly extinguished as Arthur was scenting at him intently; his neck, his armpits, his chest, searching, motions jerky, growing frustrated as he couldn't find what he sought. Arthur made a rough sound and lowered into a crouch.

  
“Arthur – what are you doing? Get up.” Merlin forced the words out, trying for even the smallest bit of confused levity. Even he heard the waver at the edges of the words. Something about Arthur sinking down like that, it was so unbearably wrong and so unendurably right at the same time.

  
Arthur ignored his protest. Thus positioned, he gave a hard stare at Merlin's groin and then leaned in to sniff at Merlin's crotch. Merlin felt his cheeks heat, and his fingers curled against the wall. The last time something like this had happened, he'd been five years old on a playground. A curious classmate had cornered him by the slide and was sniffing him, as many children did before they learned it wasn't polite.

  
Arthur ignored decorum, clearly on a mission. What did he know? What was he trying to confirm that brought him to his knees, smelling at Merlin like a potential lover? Merlin could think of only one thing.

  
Arthur's face was a picture of focus, and it made him look beautifully intense through his anger. Arthur was no longer pinning him down, instead he was balancing himself as he hovered near the front of Merlin's trousers without touching. In his scenting he was probably picking up the remnants of the beta hormones. By now they'd be weak and oddly thin for a natural scent.

  
He looked up, eyes hard as they caught Merlin's. “What are you?” he demanded gruffly.

  
“I don't know what you're talking about.”

  
“The hell you say!” Arthur snapped.

  
Merlin's voice wavered a little as spoke.“Th-this is really inappropriate and you're very angry–”

  
“Oh, you have no idea.”

  
“I think maybe you should go until you've calmed down, then we can discuss it,” Merlin continued, hoping he sounded stronger than he felt, which was that his stomach had dropped into his feet.

  
Arthur spoke through his teeth. “I'm not going anywhere, until you tell me what you are,” Arthur stared up at him, thunderous.

  
Now the moment was upon him, and it was too soon, unprepared for. He hadn't really thought how he would say it, hadn't picked out the kindest words, the ones that would mitigate the worst of all Arthur's reactions. The discovery of Arthur taking those pills had given him reason not to think of it, and also reason to fear, if he did.

  
A kind of irrational fear in the face of revelation and of Arthur's barely restrained anger leaped into Merlin's throat. He acted before he could think. Merlin dug his hands into the wall and used the force of a mighty push to lunge aside.

  
Miraculously not tripping on his own feet, Merlin fled down the small hall and through the living room. It made no sense, running from something he had to say, but he couldn't bear it. When the moment came, all he could think of was flight.

  
And running was a mistake. Merlin knew that almost as soon as he'd jerked free and shot away. He heard the hard pound of footsteps behind him, and knew that though the primal instincts, and the omega inside him accepted running in lieu of groveling, the academic knew running was the worst thing to do. Running made the alpha want to chase. Need to chase. Need to catch.

  
He only made it halfway to the bathroom, where he'd had some bizarre, panicked notion to lock himself in and have this conversation through a barred door, where he wouldn't have to see the destruction he wrought. Instead, as he rounded the couch, Arthur caught him, his grip iron and unrelenting upon Merlin's arm. It drew Merlin to a sudden halt, so he stumbled, a hiccup of sound whiplashed out of him.

  
Caught he might have been, but Merlin fought as Arthur pulled him in. A minor battle of grunts and tugging ensued while Merlin tried to wrench his arm free and not trip over the packed boxes. They kicked up the rug and jostled furniture in some entanglement that was more akin to a sloppy grapple than a violent altercation, until Arthur wheeled Merlin around. The glimmer of canines registered in Merlin's vision a microsecond before the pain dug into his forearm. He felt the chill of the doulostonin surge into his system. For a moment they were frozen, Arthur's fangs buried inside him. It broke when Arthur retraced his canines.

  
“Arthur!” he yelped, shocked.

  
He only had a few moments to feel the anger flooding his system at Arthur's audacity before the lava of Merlin's outrage was met by the tide of foreign hormones and been quelled by them with brisk efficiency.

  
“How could you?! You mancing, entitled– ” Merlin used the last moments of full coordination to yank his arm away. The fervor of his bodily separation from Arthur sent him unbalanced. His knees turned to liquid, and his body took on a heavy, slumberous inelegance. He stumbled and upset a half- unpacked box. Office supplies and assorted junk went scattering and bouncing across the rug. He caught himself on the armchair before he fell in some mad determination not to go to his knees in front of Arthur.

  
Merlin glanced at his invader, who had the back of his hand pressed over his mouth, eyes grim. Then Merlin was distracted by the squeak of his fingers against the leather of the chair as his body went cumbersome and clumsy, dragging him downward. He dug in, fighting to stay on his feet. He didn't have to maintain the effort for long; before he sank all the way, Arthur caught him by the unbitten arm. Merlin managed an offended sound, but it went unheeded as Arthur pulled Merlin's shoulder against his chest and curled an arm around Merlin's waist to keep him propped against Arthur's chest. Merlin found his leaden head dropping to Arthur's shoulder. Everything was a cold heaviness, as if his body was carved from granite.

  
“You knothead,” Merlin managed, and it might not have been terribly creative, but it carried the dark vehemence he needed to communicate.

  
Arthur ignored him and lifted Merlin's arm to look at the bite. There were two neat punctures in the middle of his arm, the oozing blood stark against the pale of his skin. Arthur raised Merlin's wrist to bring it closer and dipped his head in. He licked gently at the marks as if he could soothe away the hurt, his tongue hot on the cool skin. He cleaned up the blood, suckling softly on the injured flesh in a way that caused as much discomfort as it did relief, and something else. Something thorny and intimate. Merlin watched Arthur's mouth catch over the flesh while the slow-drunk nausea spun around in his belly.

  
Merlin still wanted to kick him and run away, only he wasn't even standing on his own. Then he wasn't even standing, as, with a discordant bounce, Arthur lifted Merlin into his arms in a bridal hold. Merlin squeaked in protest, but it didn't stop Arthur from gathering Merlin into his chest securely, Merlin's head tucking into a shoulder as if Merlin were a swooning damsel from a black-and-white horror movie.

  
Arthur carried him across the room, and then, after a moment's hesitation, into the bathroom. Merlin's gut sank with dread. Before he knew it, the shower curtain was wrenched aside with the shrieking sigh of metal and he was being manhandled into the tub. There he clung to the molded shelves just to keep himself upright.

  
The spray turned on, shockingly cold as it battered at Merlin's shoulders.

  
Merlin yowled in protest. He raised a hand to defend against the stinging spray, but without both hands clinging to the shower wall, he wavered and almost lost his balance. He grabbed hold once more to maintain his stability, sending the cake of soap crashing down to the shower floor.

  
“Arthur, stop!” he tried again while the water rushed at him, unimpeded, and warming entirely too slowly for comfort.

  
“Why? Are you going to tell me the truth, Merlin?” Arthur turned to look at Merlin finally, anger behind the eyes, but controlled and determined. Of all of the things Merlin saw, the determination made him the most nervous.

  
Arthur continued. “Well? Anything you'd like to say? Anything you think I might find relevant?”

  
“You – You subdued me, I – I can't –” Merlin made a harsh gesture to fill in for the explanation, which his dopey mind could not fashion.

  
“You can't lie. Might as well say it. You can't lie to me like you've always done.”

  
“That's not it,” Merlin protested. He was finding the words just as slippery as the shower stall. One foul statement and he might slip into danger, and yet he was desperate to try and calm Arthur.

  
“Then tell me, Merlin. Tell me,” Arthur said, coming to the side of the tub, his hands fisted at his sides, waiting.

  
Merlin's mind was fuzzy, but he was certain barking out that he was Arthur's omega truemate in one go would be a disaster beyond imagining. Arthur couldn't be told in that way, not all at once, not with those horrible pills swimming around in his system, spurning him to do lord knew what. Only, what was the best way to confess? He couldn't think. Everything was waxy, his thoughts hard to grip. Arthur was going to be so mad at him. He didn't want to make his alpha mad. Maybe if he could feign some kind of ignorance, despite the muddy soup condition of his mind, if he could just...

  
The delay made Arthur snort. “Then I'll get my own answers; just as you advised.”

  
“No – Arthur, th-the pills! You can't–“

  
“I can, and I will.” Arthur threw off his coat and grabbed a washcloth. He fished the fallen soap out of the bottom of the tub, his expression grim as he sniffed it.

  
“Scent canceling,” he said with stony disapproval.

  
Merlin sucked in a few breaths, watching. When Arthur tossed the bar into the trash and threw open Merlin's medicine cabinet to rifle it, Merlin lunged out of the bathtub once more.

  
Focused effort prevented him from tripping over the edge of the tub, but it was sheer delusion, the idea that he'd get by Arthur. Still, he tried. Anything not to be cornered, unarmed, with Arthur and the truth!

  
Arthur saw him in the mirror, spun and caught Merlin again. Merlin flailed, but the struggle was short lived. Despite his agitation-fueled verve, Merlin was drugged into ungainly complicity. He was slippery with water, but even that didn't work overmuch to his advantage. Merlin's threadbare worn-into-comfort shirt ripped at some point, before Arthur got a solid handle on him. Then Arthur dragged him back to the bathtub. They were doused in slowly warming water from the shower as Arthur succeeded in thrusting Merlin back into the stall.

  
The water-slick floor of the tub sent Merlin pitching, and to avoid falling and splitting his skull open he grabbed onto the shower curtain rod. At the same moment, Arthur caught him tightly.

  
“You're going to hurt yourself,” Arthur admonished gruffly, as he held Merlin against his chest, keeping him from falling. He lingered with Merlin's head tucked beside his throat, so Merlin felt the words vibrating under his lips. It tickled. Merlin whined softly in response, pressing his face to the warm skin and alluring smell. Oh, but there was that offended scent, beside it. Merlin had offered his alpha offense. That was bad. Should never make the alpha angry. Angry alphas punished.

  
He pressed at the soft skin under the hinge of jaw and whined again, apologetic, seeking.

  
Arthur released Merlin. Once he made sure Merlin was standing securely, he started to try and work Merlin's torn, sticking shirt up and off him. Merlin went loose and let him do it. He was even hunching down meekly, on some internal advising his reeling mind deemed sensible. It was best to accede, to show the alpha this complicity by exposing the back of his neck, as he'd seen Lance do when deferring to his alpha's will. A surrender, something automatic and instinctual, welling from some forgotten place inside.

  
AlphaArthur murmured a pleased sound. Merlin more felt than saw Arthur bend toward him. Merlin gave a jolt of sound when he felt the warm tip of a nose brush along his nape. From the last cervical vertebrae, up to Merlin's hairline Arthur's nose traced a meandering path. He breathed contented little huffs of warm air that ghosted teasingly. Due the awkward position, his lips lightly skimmed across Merlin's skin intermittently. The touches were affectionate, but also authoritative. It felt more like an acceptance and a reward of Merlin's capitulation, rather than an embrace. With it, Merlin could feel some of Arthur's tension ease, and that, in turn, made Merlin realize what he was doing.

  
He was bent in sycophantic deference! Exposing his neck as if Arthur were his master! As if Merlin owed him something after Arthur had subjugated him, bullied him. No! This was not who he would be. He refused, utterly refused to be that meek subordinate.

  
Arthur resumed peeling Merlin's shirt up and free as Merlin grew more and more appalled with his own obedience. He couldn't let this be. This wasn't who he was. He was not a simpering fool who would bend at the first sign of struggle. He hadn't done it when Halig had bitten him all those months ago, and he wouldn't do it now.

  
The injustice of it bubbled through the sloppy soup of Merlin's mind, and forced him into action. While Arthur was working the catching shirt free of Merlin's arms, Merlin took the second opportunity. He ducked out of the shirt and lunged free again, bumbling and coltish on his feet. Water went everywhere as he sloshed free of the bathtub.

  
Arthur dropped the shirt with a wordless exclamation of outraged annoyance. He seized Merlin by the back of the neck he'd just been nuzzling. The momentum made Merlin slip on wet socked feet, but he didn't fall because Arthur pulled him back against him again with a growl.

  
Merlin felt Arthur's mouth hot against the cool, water-dappled skin of his shoulder. He felt the brush of teeth which had lengthened again. Merlin wailed a protest, and tried to jerk aside, but to no avail. Instead of a bite, the canines scratched against his skin. Merlin felt the searing chill of the doloustonin, not a full second dose, but yet enough to make him feel dizzy.

  
“Arrrthrrrr,” the protest slurred since his tongue seemed to have gone thick in his mouth. He slumped, head lolling on Arthur's shoulder, probably soaking Arthur's shirt once and for all, and ruining it since it was bound to be Dry Clean Only. Merlin could only try not to add vomit to his many crimes against Arthur's suit. Not that Arthur wouldn't deserve a little technicolor yawn. He wanted to explain, or maybe to protest, but forming that one word was so difficult, a sentence of them seemed unattainable.

  
“That was underhanded, Merlin,” Arthur reproached, and the full force of his anger was back, curling a caustic odor at Merlin's nose. His mind cringed from the smell, some primal memory that an angry alpha meant pain and punishment.

  
Arthur put him back in the bath. This time Merlin crouched near the bottom, his forehead pressed against the wide outer rim of the bathtub while the world swirled around him. His body was unconnected, rubbery, and one ill-move would likely send him toppling.

  
What would happen now? He could only anticipate the worst in jerky scenes, like razor-edged puzzle pieces slicing through his mind in glinting flashes. He lifted his chin to see Arthur watching him, concern entering the corners of his expression. Despite the fluttery thoughts of what Arthur's anger might draw him to, Merlin tried to glare up at him, but it required continuous effort, and he had to keep reminding himself to glare, glare, glare. Despite Merlin's loopy internal aspirations to burn Arthur to a husk of charcoal with a death glare, the expression melted away while his mind pitched, and then sank.

  
Though drifting, there were fragments. Arthur casting him a distinctly warning look before retreating to the sink. Merlin watched him in snips and snatches. Arthur pulling off his wet suit coat and hanging it on the towel bar. Arthur looking in the medicine cabinet. Arthur crouched, rooting through the space under Merlin's sink until he let out a sound of success. Arthur gone. Arthur back. Arthur perched on the lid-down toilet with a fresh bar of soap in his hand. In the next moment toned forearms danced across Merlin's slitted, watery, vision, like the smeared subjects of an Arthur-flavored fever dream. With a washcloth frothy with lather, Arthur washed him; his chest, armpits, stomach, neck and back, long strokes of the soft cloth. The water was warm now, steam carrying the fresh scent of soap and Arthur while Merlin was petted with terry. It felt nice. Something indolent and intimate about it that only encouraged him to drift pleasantly.

  
Well, at first. As Arthur took particular care around the bite marks Merlin pieced together exactly why he was here, and remembered he should be glaring at Arthur, so he got back on that. The bite marks still bled sluggishly, but Arthur didn't get any soap in them. He was careful about his task.

  
Merlin had regained some lucidity by the time Arthur pressed the cloth into one of his hands. Merlin stared down at it, uncomprehending, then up at Arthur.

  
“Wash,” Arthur ordered, nodding toward Merlin's lower half. He'd crossed his arms, staring at Merlin down his nose like some impassive guard hell bent on seeing Merlin through this.

  
Merlin scowled. He slopped the washcloth onto the floor of the tub defiantly.

  
Arthur snarled, “So help me, Merlin, do it, or I will do it for you.”

  
Still addled, Merlin weighed his options. There was biting the bullet and washing, or there was the horrifying alternative that Arthur might reach down Merlin's trousers and do it for him. If he read Arthur's expression, Merlin was going to be washing away his beta smell no matter what. It was how it happened which was in his hands.

  
Merlin wished he could burn away the doloustonin cooling his blood. Hormone-muted outrage that Arthur would dare bite him, dare force him was insufficient to overcome the subduing. The mourning over the woeful violation at those hands he had been beginning to trust brought him no nearer either. Under all that was the bitter vindication that he'd been right all along.

  
And then, beneath that, there was the other part of him. The nagging thought if only he'd said, if only he'd told, instead of running away, he wouldn't be here. If only he hadn't made Arthur try to catch him. If only he hadn't disobeyed so many times, he wouldn't be eroding Arthur's patience away, bit by bit.

  
And when it unraveled fully, what then?

  
Merlin closed his mind forcibly to the split second thoughts of battered faces and broken limbs of other omegas who had angered their alphas. No. he couldn't think like that. He mustn’t think like that. He didn't want Arthur to be something he was afraid of.

  
Arthur had picked up the washcloth and pushed it into Merlin's hands once more. This time, Merlin took hold of it. He turned away from Arthur, even though Arthur had risen and retreated to the other end of the bathroom when Merlin relented. Not happily, though. Merlin stuck the cloth down his pants to scrub blindly. The chemical greasy sensation of suds trapped along his genitals made him feel uncomfortable. He dropped the cloth away when finished and curled up against thoughts that wouldn't stop stabbing into his head.

_They always think their mate wouldn't. They always think ze loves them, ze would never hurt them. They always think theirs is different, better, wouldn't dream of raising a hand to them. They always think ze knows, them, loves them, and they know ze; ze would never hurt them. They always think theirs is different, better, wouldn't dream of raising a hand to them. They always think ze wouldn't. They always think it could never be them and their mate._

  
Merlin started then the rain of warm water struck his back. Arthur had detached the shower head and had positioned it to rinse Merlin off. The water beat down on his chest and shoulders, chasing away suds and smell. Merlin watched his mask stream on iridescent bubbles. When Arthur tried to politely aim at Merlin's crotch Merlin reached out to take the shower head. It was better rinsing himself off.

  
Arthur extinguished the water as Merlin finished. Merlin was glad of it. The roar of the spray against the fiberglass of the shower stall was making Merlin's head hurt, making the thoughts pound harder. He dropped the shower head with a careless clatter, waiting to see what would happen now. His sweatpants were clinging to his legs, hair was plastered to his head and dripped water down his nose. When he looked up, Arthur wasn't in the room any more.

  
The longer he waited, the more prickled with pinching gooseflesh his skin got. He could get out, he reasoned, pleased to find his mind capable of reasoning again. He could stand on the bathmat Arthur must have laid down at some point, though Merlin didn't remember him doing it. He could get out and drip on that. He could at least get out of the stupid wet pajama bottoms and socks. There was even a folded towel on the counter, probably meant for him. He could do all these things...

  
Yet something stayed him. Arthur had put him in the bathtub, several times. It somehow didn't feel right to exit without permission. No., not that it didn't feel right. Merlin couldn't shake it, even as he reasoned it through, as well he could think in this state. It wasn't that he was kowtowing to the urge of the omega or the call of the alpha, but the constant, drunken physical rebellion was unwise. He wanted to think Arthur wouldn't really hurt him, tried to dredge up some absolute faith that his alpha was different, better, wouldn't dream of...

  
But they always think their mate wouldn't.

  
There was also the rather every-day concern that if he slipped while trying to stand, he'd brain himself in the bathtub. The police would have to be called, Gwen and Freya would find out and the day would live in an infamy Merlin would never be free of. His life was already embarrassing enough without a hideous reoccurring story about that one time he got a semi-naked a concussion in the shower with Arthur.

  
He was scrubbed free of the beta smell now, and the soft scent of the suppressants was uncovered. Arthur must have suspected him of being omega, must have been told. Did he merely suspect omega, or was there more? And what would he do when he knew for certain, in mere minutes?  
Now there was a hot, oily dread in the pit of Merlin's stomach.

  
The door rattled, admitted Arthur. He carried fresh pajama pants Merlin recognized from the basket of clean laundry he'd been meaning to get around to folding. Merlin felt a shaft of relief that Arthur had not allowed himself to root through Merlin's dresser. There were still a few things he'd rather Arthur not know, and he was wary of anyone rooting through his drawers.

  
Arthur traded the trousers for the towel. He unfolded it to the full expanse, and approached.

  
Merlin tensed, but Arthur's touch was still gentle as he dried Merlin, though there was a shortness of efficiency around the edges, a kind of distemper Arthur was restraining himself from fully exhibiting. The terry abraded only enough to soak the water away. Arthur even dried his hair, taking sumptuous care not to jar Merlin's tender brains around in his skull, and even minding his ears.

  
When satisfied, Arthur left the towel hanging on Merlin's shoulders and reached down to help him up. “Come out. You have two minutes to get out of the wet things and put those on.”

  
They stumbled a little, but got Merlin out of the tub. He sat down heavily on the toilet. Thus secured, Arthur turned his back.

  
Merlin struggled to peel off the clammy wet things, messily scrub away the lingering water, and don the fresh plaid pajama trousers.

  
“Are you decent?” Arthur asked.

  
Merlin grunted an assent.

  
When Arthur turned around, Merlin was mostly presentable. He thrust himself to his feet on principle, then staggered a little when he went light headed. Before Arthur could act Merlin grabbed the counter and pulled himself over to stand in front of it, and maybe use it to prop himself up. He wasn't facing Arthur sitting down, that was for sure. When it looked like Merlin was going to face plant, Arthur started forward, reaching out. When Merlin had caught himself, Arthur's approach became more business than intent to rescue.

  
The blue eyes flicked to and fro over the length of Merlin's torso, to his belly and the faint line of dark hair.  
Then Arthur reached out, and Merlin hastily turned, flipping himself around to give Arthur his back. Not escaping, but defiant. Merlin could still glare at him through the mirror, and maybe give one or two longing glances at the ajar door behind them.

  
In the process he noticed that on the counter, beside the sink, the little bottle of beta hormones was sitting oh so innocently. He'd been hiding it under the sink, among the surplus soap and shampoo bottles, thinking no one was going to be poking around down there. It served him right. He should have hidden the bottle back with his dirty laundry, or in his nightstand with his suppressants.

  
Arthur drew Merlin's attention back to him quickly enough, though. There was nothing as fascinating as an invading hand reaching out to touch him. Merlin braced for the impact of it, then gritted his teeth when Arthur made contact with the small of his back.

  
Their eyes met in the mirror. Arthur's hand hovered there, cupping heat into Merlin's chilly skin, thumbing a node of spine above the waistband. Then it slid up, following the line of his spine, up to his neck. This time the gooseflesh wasn't from cold. Arthur was watching him in the mirror, vigilant, still angry, and something else, something keen and famished.

  
Arthur's hand coursed into Merlin's wet hair, tucking locks here and there. In seeking, his fingertips deepened to graze Merlin's scalp, which prompted the muscles to tighten in a pleasurable little thrill that made Merlin's eyes flutter. Their stare broken, Arthur's eyes dropped to Merlin's shoulders, and the bite. His hand swept down to Merlin's jaw and the light stubble he'd not bothered to shave today. When he caught Merlin's chin, Merlin couldn't help a nervous swallow, even as Arthur tilted Merlin's head to the side and looked at the scratch from his teeth high between Merlin's shoulder and neck.

  
Arthur moved in, face tucking into Merlin's neck where he inhaled sharply again. He skimmed along the length of his neck, down, to sample Merlin's scapulae. Then Arthur levered to his knees as he trailed down Merlin's back once more. Merlin felt the swell of breath puff along the fine peach fuzz adorning his skin, all the way down to the small of his back. Something about that, the sultry swirl of breath, his alpha's breath, so near his body was just a little intoxicating. Merlin felt it well up inside again, the aspect of himself that was soft and wanted to give in, to bend and offer to Arthur. Secret, buried pearl-deep in his tightly furled mind was anticipation. Oh God, and that awful part of him he was so ashamed of, the part that liked the way his alpha handled him. That thrilled just the tiniest bit when Arthur planted Merlin where he wanted him.

  
That part that shriveled back into fear when Arthur concluded coldly, “Suppressants.”

  
It was more that unshakable, obsequious feeling, rather than the fear of Arthur which made Merlin revolt again. That low certainty that, compromised as he was, he was going to give in. He was going to reveal himself, embarrass himself. Running was better, even if running was foolish. Even if running promised the violence that haunted the back of his mind, better it be born dealt with than remain an potential-laden specter.

  
So Merlin pushed free again. He jarred Arthur off balance from his crouch so he smacked into the door, knocking it open fully. Merlin bolted through the unbarred passage, though the noise Arthur made as he struck was enough to have Merlin throw a look over his shoulder, just to be sure Arthur wasn't hurt. He wasn't, as he was already grappling to regain his feet to examine Merlin once again.

  
Merlin swung around, but in his addled state and with Arthur's well-being a distraction, he plowed into the contents of the box he'd upended when Arthur subdued him. He trod on spilled alligator clips and a stapler remover and hissed in pain. He jerked his foot up, hopping, until he tripped on the tape dispenser and tumbled to the floor, skidding into the boxes stacked against the wall.

  
He was recovering, muddled, when Arthur's voice rang out in alarm. A hand snaked around Merlin's ankle and yanked him. His back ground against the rug as he was dragged several feet in a rush –and boxes tumbled down where he'd been laying not seconds ago, crashing with such weight that the cardboard split open, and spilled out books.

  
Merlin stared, his heart hammering, at the place where he'd almost just been crushed by his academic habit of hoarding books.

  
Then, Arthur was on top of him.

  
“You idiot!” Arthur grabbed his shoulders and jarred them. “You're going to get yourself killed!”

  
Merlin rolled his head to the side and threw his hands up to protect his face.

  
Merlin felt shock ripple through Arthur's body in a flex of the thighs, in the speed with which Arthur released Merlin's shoulders. “I'm not going to hit you!” Now there was a little horror in Arthur's voice.

  
“You bit me,” Merlin said softly.

  
“That's different. I did it because you keep running, rather than face me like a man! Face me, Merlin! Tell me Cenred is lying, that he doesn't know his ass from his elbow. Tell me that everything he said was his own stupid conjecture, and he's wrong. Tell me you didn't let me kiss you and then let me have some kind of sexuality crisis. _Tell me you didn't lie to me!_ ” He was shouting in Merlin's face, bowed over him, but Arthur’s hands were digging into his own thighs.

  
Merlin winced, still trying to catch his breath. When Arthur touched him again, it was with a carefully and intentionally light-fingered hand, which pulled Merlin's chin up, made Merlin look at him.

  
“Are you omega?”

  
Merlin couldn't breathe, couldn't think, only stared up at the face above him.

  
“Are you omega?!” Arthur snapped again, fiercer.

  
“Yes,” Merlin's mouth whispered it, even as he wanted to hold it back. Then he stuttered it again and again, incapable of stopping. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  
Above him came a stony silence. Merlin watched as Arthur's face firmed and closed, taking all the things he felt and hiding them away. Arthur didn't even move, not so much as a hitch of the thighs that straddled Merlin. He just stared down at him.

  
“I always … for work. Since high school. Blockers, not the beta, it was for -- Spring Run, for-- I didn't mean to, just for then, and then,” Merlin tried to grip the words, tried to shape them into some kind of explanation, but his tongue tripped over them so they wagged ineffectually. “And, you. You. And then ...everything was too far...and you.”

  
Too far. Wasn't that just what had happened? Gone too far to recall, to turn around, to correct, and badly chosen or not, the path had to be taken. Merlin slumped down, some of the tension cut from him.

  
“You lied.”

  
“I'm sorry,” Merlin said.

  
“You lied. Since the moment I met you, you lied,” Arthur said, the realization coming in a bitter mouthful.  
Something about that wasn't right, but Merlin couldn't make his brain process exactly what.

  
“I thought you, at least, you wouldn't. Not to my face, not like this. But it isn't just you, is it? They know, don't they? They all know. Gwen, Freya, Gwaine. God, even Morgana's snide remarks lately make sense. They knew, and you've all been snickering behind my back.” Arthur stiffened. “Lance.”

  
“No,” Merlin said at once.

  
“Don't be stupid. He's guessed at least, and has been trying to warn me in some oblique way without betraying anyone because he's too anal about confidences and keeping favor with Gwen when he should have told me. I'm his alpha, his pack, he should have been honest with me. You should have been honest with me!” Arthur's gaze had wavered as he made the connections about Lance, but then it narrowed back in one Merlin.

  
“I didn't mea–”

  
“But you did.”

  
Abruptly, Arthur shoved up to his feet. He reached down and half dragged, half helped Merlin up. There was some temper-borne roughness in the handling he couldn't quite quell. Once up, he pushed Merlin to sit on the couch. Merlin scrambled to collect all his limbs, which still felt a little over-long, even as his head was clearing. Once deposited on the couch Merlin watched Arthur, who turned away and went to pace the length of the room.

  
“Been having a good laugh, haven't you all? At the gullible alpha you all fooled. Everyone thinks I'm stupid, clearly. And maybe I am, to keep trusting people who come to me exhibiting such unbesmirchable honesty.”

He turned on Merlin. “But, you, Merlin. I thought you were different. I really did.”

  
“It wasn't like that, Arthur, please,” Merlin said.

  
“Please what? Don't realize the truth? A bit late, now. God, how you've been laughing at me. Was it fun? Making the big bad alpha think he's gay? I bet you'll even get a great article out of it in some academic journal so my humiliation can be national!” Arthur spat.

  
“No! No, I would never!” Merlin straightened, appalled that Arthur would think it of him, even if it looked bad.

  
“Why not? We all know how you feel about alphas. Isn't devaluing my sexugender all you live for? Aren't you so pleased you've made me look like a fool? I bet you even enjoyed manipulating me.”

  
“...You don't mean that,” Merlin said with hope, but also worry.

  
“How would you know?” Arthur shot back. “Do you think you have me so thoroughly figured out? Jerk the strings and watch me dance to your tune?”

  
The idea was ludicrous. Arthur had never done what Merlin wanted. In fact, Arthur seemed to have been installed with some special Thwart Merlin software which had made every one of their encounters far more difficult than they had to be.

  
Before Merlin could find the words to say how absurd the notion was, Arthur was carrying on.

  
“This at least explains why you've crawled under my skin, why there's been no peace for me since I met you. Why I wanted you even when logic said I shouldn't. Some part of me knew you were omega.” He dropped into the armchair catty cornered to the couch, elbow on the chair arm, fingers braced at his temple while he looked at Merlin.

  
They sat for several tense minutes watching one another as Merlin composed what he would say. He ventured tentatively, “I didn't mean to lie about being omega. It was safer, at Spring Run. Being a beta, instead of ...”

  
“Something fuckable?”

  
Merlin winced at the starkness of the words, and nodded.

  
“Then why did you keep doing it after?” Arthur asked.

  
“You never gave me a chance, being such a– a – an ass! Arrogant and alphasplaining and Oh Everyone Wants Me Woe Is Me and–and then we weren't going to see each other, and then we were, and then we were friends and– Why does what I am have to matter?”

  
“What do you mean?”

  
“Why does it matter? I was me before and I am me now and the me-ness hasn't changed, is not more or less or better or worse or more believable. I'm not different than I was, so why does it matter?”

  
“Because it does. Because it's a part of you,” Arthur said.

  
“A part. Not all. Most of me wasn't enough for you to –” Merlin forcibly cut himself off, turned his gaze to the furrows of fabric of the couch.

  
“What? Hurdle over my sexuality? Were you honestly going to hold my adherence to my orientation over me? And then what? Once I'd proved I was willing to subvert parts of myself for you, give up my mate, my dreams, you'd gift me with the truth? Allow me in on the fact you're something I might want to fuck while celebrating the conversion of another heterofascist into gender fluidity?”

  
That was an ugly picture, and Merlin was a little shocked by it. And that Arthur knew the word heterofascist. “That wasn't what this was – I wouldn't,” he protested.

  
“No. You'd just lie.”

  
“I never said I was beta. I just let you smell. You did the rest.” Merlin knew it was feeble, but it was worth pointing out.

  
“It's a lie, Merlin, no matter how you want to dress it up,” Arthur said. “I just don't understand why.”  
Merlin dug his fingers into the couch. Why. Oh, the why.

  
“I never sought to have you,” Merlin said, strained, but stressing the words.

  
“Then what is this?” Arthur was out of his chair. He crossed the room in a moment and came to his knees before Merlin on the couch. “Help me understand, Merlin. Explain it to me. I thought I was going mad, wanting you, knowing I couldn't, shouldn't, and still I … Why didn't you tell me, when we knew we wanted each other?” He curled his fingers around Merlin's cheeks. Merlin's heart sped up, and he hardly dared to breathe, the fingers warm and bold as they framed out his face. Merlin could only make a soft sound.

  
“At least it makes sense. There's a momega out there, so close, and I've waited so long. And here you were, so near. It would make sense I would be drawn to you,” Arthur's expression tightened briefly. “And you do know what it's like, while I've been telling you you didn't. How could you begrudge me wanting to bond, when you know what it is to feel that?”

  
“I don't– I've never– I haven't, with an alpha.” Merlin stumbled over the words. Arthur's proximity made it hard to think, so he didn't even know what he was answering to; to bonding, to wanting, or even to sex.

  
“Good,” Arthur said, with a kind of untamed gratification. He lifted up, heading in to kiss Merlin.

  
Merlin opened his mouth to protest, because he knew in this state, if Arthur kissed him? He'd be lost. He had no auxiliary assets with which to fortify his protection. Inside, there was an ache, and terror, a vulnerability he couldn't seem to shield no matter how many inner reserves he tried to call on.

  
Arthur paid him no heed. He caught Merlin's mouth in a kiss. It was all warm and wanting, and Arthur took advantage of Merlin's readiness to speak and pressed his tongue in. Then Arthur stole all of those protestations with a few sweet sweeps, and tender demands.

  
Merlin made a helpless sound, for in the face of Arthur's ardor that was precisely what he was. As before, initial honeyed hesitancy bled into dire wantonness.

  
Arthur's hands dropped from Merlin's cheeks as they kissed, coursing down to grip his waist and pull him nearer. No, not just nearer. In tugs and pulls, Merlin found himself cinched lower on the couch until Arthur pulled Merlin under him. With Arthur half laying over Merlin's torso, a solid weight of sheltering heat, Merlin forgot everything else.

  
On instinct, Merlin parted his legs and tucked them up to grip the alpha covering him, his knees against the sides of Arthur's rib cage. He let his hands wander, one dragging through Arthur's hair, the other across the wide shoulders. He could feel sinew and muscle shifting as Arthur supported himself to keep from compressing Merlin, still kissing fervently.

  
It should have been less desperate, shouldn't it? Hadn't they already done this, and therefore slaked the heat? There shouldn't still be such a savage craving. Yet the hunger was not appeased. Perhaps it was more wrought, more ravenous than before. Neither doubted the other wished this, so it was all desire and impossibility.

  
“Stop me,” Arthur pleaded softly when a lack of breath made them part. Arthur did not stop laying affection upon him. He dotted pattering kisses on the bow then the corners of Merlin's lips, his chin, then along his jaw.

  
Stop him? Why? Merlin couldn't fathom it. He buried his fingers into Arthur's shirt and moved in to scent at Arthur's throat and neck, drawing in that marvelous cardamom-musk-salt smell, nudging and nuzzling at the skin, rubbing his face into it.

  
“I can't do this – I don't want to be _that_ alpha, Merlin. With the harem, who has no honor, no loyalty to his mate, no fidelity, no trust in his word,” Arthur continued kissing a path to Merlin's ear, his throat rumbling under Merlin's ministrations.

  
“I don't want my mate to expect less of me. I want to be worth zer, a mate to be proud of.” Arthur caught Merlin's ear in his lips, then pulled it into his mouth for a few, quick draws.

  
“You could never disappoint me.” Merlin curled in to take Arthur's mouth again, fingers splaying into Arthur's hair, tugging him into a new angle. No, Arthur could never be that alpha, not really. All you had to do was really look at him, as Merlin had looked, had done nothing for months but scrutinize and resist, but it was there. He would never be dishonored by Arthur, not like that, and he wanted to wipe that doubt away, obliterate it as only a mate could with their solid promise, even if he was both the planter of the seed, and the gardener to weed it out.

  
Arthur moaned into his mouth, and, for a moment, let Merlin control the fervor of the kiss. Let Merlin suck at his lower lip, let him taste Arthur. Not for long, though. After a few moments Arthur renewed his vigor, set on conquering Merlin's mouth with a kind of delicious authority that had Merlin wriggling restlessly.

  
“We can't, Merlin. I've never wanted anyone else but my mate like this. You shouldn't be able to tempt me. You have to stop me, help me. You have to help me be better!” Arthur rose up above him. He straightened and looking down at Merlin with all the yearning and avarice Merlin had only dreamed of.

  
While Arthur looked, Merlin reached up to brush his cheek. This was all a bad idea, and Merlin was trying to care while he admired the broad loveliness of Arthur's face.

  
Arthur raised his hands and splayed them over Merlin's collar bones. He traced the winged lines in a trail which came together at the suprasternal notch, then ran down the center of his chest. Arthur's fingers bumped down his ribs, thumbs joined as they slid over Merlin's sternum in a sustained caress, all the way to his belly.

  
Merlin had been touched here before, of course. He'd been petted and groped. However, it was always in the midst of trying not to breathe, trying not to smell, trying to ignore that nagging part of him that knew this wasn't the right stud for him. There was not the smallest qualm now. Nothing to take him away from the moment, from the simple pleasure of being touched. Of having hands span and learn him while he closed his eyes and surrendered to it, unimpeded.

  
“Look at you,” Arthur breathed, as his hands parted, mirroring each other as they curled around Merlin's belly, to his sides, spanning up the sensitive lengths until they rose back over Merlin's pectorals. Merlin squirmed, eyes flicking open. Arthur's head tilted in note of the movement, and for a moment a sly smile curled the corners of his mouth. Each of his thumbs brushed over a nipple, then swirled them in circles.

  
Merlin let out a hitch of reedy sound, tugged at Arthur's shirt as his hips hitched and rolled in response, dragging his erection against Arthur's belly. He _wanted_. Was it possible to want this much and not be consumed by it? Was it strange to want to be devoured, to fall into the hunger so you were never sated?  
Arthur under his hands, between his legs and rich in his nose; Arthur was everywhere and why had that been a bad thing? Having Arthur over him, ready to take. Merlin welcomed the devouring, the taking. Welcomed his mate to anything he wished, as Arthur's hands mapped the length of his calves, and he pressed kisses to the low plane between stomach and groin, just above his pajama trousers.

  
Merlin saw Arthur take in the mound at his groin, where he'd grown stiff and ready. Arthur glanced up at him, and found Merlin staring back. Arthur smiled, and laid a hand over the plaid hillock. “So hard,” he murmured. He laid a kiss beside Merlin's navel, while he felt out the shape of Merlin's cock with bold fingers. Merlin whined and surged into his hands, letting his eyes fall closed.

  
“And eager,” Arthur fondled him fully, teasingly, fingers curling around the shaft and stroking. Merlin snagged handfuls of Arthur's shirt at the shoulders, trying to secure himself. He wanted Arthur never to stop that, wanted to feel himself tip over the edge by Arthur's doing, and under his gaze.

  
“Are you getting wet for me too, Merlin?” Arthur asked, breath stirring the fine dark hairs at Merlin's belly.

  
Merlin's eyes flew open as Arthur's fingertips dipped into Merlin's waistband, sliding down the line of his groin to Merlin's cock.

  
Oh God, he was. Merlin could just feel the faint wet tickle that was the beginnings of full arousal, the first smears of slick that had crept up on him while he'd been thoughtless and greedy.

  
And suddenly it was all there, flooding his mind in an avalanche of reasons; caution, lies, danger, pain.

  
“No,” Merlin blurted, breathless. He snatched a hand down to catch Arthur's to prevent it moving farther, tugging it from his trousers. “No, Arthur, you're right. T-This isn't you, this isn't right. You have to stop, you have to honor-be faithful- have to- to-” Merlin babbled, words careening away from him in a wild effort to stop, but he felt it. Felt Arthur go rigid and Merlin fell silent in horror.

  
Arthur's face had gone rapt, staring at Merlin's parted legs. “What is that...?” Arthur murmured it more to himself while his nostrils flared. His breathing changed rapidly, the tentative pulls of air growing deep and questing.

  
With a sudden jolt of motion he thrust Merlin's knees open and up, almost to his chest. Merlin whimpered and clapped his hands over his face. Just as he did it, though he saw Arthur leaning in, one hand braced on the back of Merlin's knee, the other gripping the couch, Merlin could feel Arthur looming over him.

  
A cheek scraped his inner thigh, stirring the plain flannel. There was the purposeful sound of inhalation, cautious, exploratory, each breath growing progressively deeper. It was dead silent but for the drawing sound of Arthur scenting him. The heat and subtle presence made it possible for Merlin to trace his course.

Arthur wended his way in, and when he scented directly over Merlin's crotch …

  
“ _...God,_ ” Arthur rasped. He grabbed Merlin's other leg, pressing it up to join its match, so Merlin was almost folded in half, spread open for him. Arthur actually leaned his face into the loose flannel, pressed in and sniffed. Merlin choked out a sound of embarrassed desperation, acutely aware of the nose sliding along the underside of his erection down to his balls. There Arthur stilled, scenting him in the most intimate fashion imaginable, his breath savoring.

  
Merlin couldn't begrudge Arthur those suspended moments, even though he couldn't stop the muffled sound of continuing desperation in response to his position. Merlin remembered what it had been to first scent Arthur. One smell out of hundreds that ensnared him. He remembered wanting nothing more than to breathe Arthur in forever, to revel in a smell apparently crafted by nature to appeal to him in every way imaginable. He'd wanted Arthur's smell on him, around him, in him. He had wanted to loll in it, rise to the peak of climax drowning in it. He had wanted to rub it into his bed and sleep within its safe barrier. He hand wanted it never to go. He still wanted all those things every time he took a breath of Arthur's smell. It wasn't so difficult to think it might be true for Arthur, too.

  
“It's you.” There was such shock in Arthur's voice that Merlin dared peek at him. Arthur had drawn slightly away from the apex of Merlin's legs and was staring at him. It was wondering, at first, even awed, but as the moments wore on his expression grew hard and brittle.

  
“It's you,” Arthur repeated, then snapped his mouth shut. His jaw was flexing, the muscle pulsing at the hinge where Merlin suspected Arthur was clenching and unclenching his teeth.

  
“I'm sorry,” Merlin choked out, and he was. For everything. For the truth, the deception, the smell, the want, the rejection, the lies, all of it. “I'm sorry– I'm sorry– I– ”

  
Arthur finally spoke. “Shut. Up.” Then he made a rough sound, dropped Merlin's legs and shoved away. Merlin drew his legs in, curled himself into a ball onto the couch, stomach roiling with some combination of thwarted desire, and the subduing and surplus of choking emotion.

  
Arthur turned away as if he were too angry or disgusted to look at Merlin. He paced again, faster than before. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth, his motions becoming choppier and choppier.

  
“My perfect omega mate.” Arthur's words started sour and empty. “Waiting for me, wanting me, missing me, as I did zer. Someone else who needed, just the way I did. The person who was just going to love me for me, going to want me, going to be loyal, going to be my perfect match. God. It's all a lie. It's all been a mancing lie!” The words heated as his gait accelerated, going not just angry, but vicious.

  
He whirled on Merlin. In a moment he was across the room. He grabbed Merlin by the upper arm, and pulled him to his knees on the couch. “Did you enjoy it? Were you laughing while I put my life on hold for you? While I told you all my confidences, my hopes for the future, while I promised what my omega would be, you knew. You _knew_ , and you withheld it from me! Dangled it right in my face in some smug, sick game! Did you enjoyed teasing me, flirting with me, knowing all the while I was waiting for you?”

  
No. That wasn't right. The wrongness scoured Merlin's skin. “No – No,” he verbally fumbled. He just couldn't work around the horrible weightiness in his mind. That liability caused a spurt of new anger. Arthur was forcing this conversation while Merlin was incapacitated. When he didn't have the basic soundness of mind to explain himself properly.

  
“Liar! You've been manipulating me since we met!” Arthur shouted. He threw Merlin back onto the couch.

  
“Never,” Merlin said, righting himself.

  
“Trying to change the way I think, who I am. It was a fucking test, wasn't it? But not to overcome gender norms or some shit, but to see if I was worthy of you. To see just how I measured up– worse, to see if you could control me! Manc, that's what it was, wasn't it? You'd have me if you'd proven you could master me? If the omega could dominate the alpha without the stupid alpha ever knowing it?”

  
“No!” Merlin came to his feet. “No, No! I didn't want to hurt you!”

  
“Not to hurt me? You did all this not to _hurt_ me?” Arthur said, disbelief staining the tones. The angry alpha smell was back, but worse. It burned Merlin's nose with corrosive fury, but still he stood under the withering weight of Arthur's glare.

  
Merlin nodded. “If you never knew, if you just – moved on, you'd never have to know, never–”

  
“Spare me this bullshit. If you were honest, you would have rejected me, instead of turning me into a mancing experiment!” Arthur snarled back. A new realization flooded his eyes. “Shit! You were cuckolding me! Fucking Daegal right under my nose while taunting me!”

  
“I'm not your mate! You can't be unfaithful to someone when you're not anything to them!” Merlin shot back.

  
“Don't be such a lying slut. You think you're not anything to me? You forget, I can smell you, the same way you smelled me. That's why you were weird and arguing all the time. Not because I'm rich or famous, but because you smelled me, and you knew you were mine. You've known you were mine all this time, and you've hidden from me, your alpha. You've hidden and mocked and manipulated me, flaunted yourself while you were cheating on me, all the while you were mine! Well, not any more.”

  
Before Merlin could process what was happening, Arthur had seized hold of Merlin. The stone was back in his expression. He yanked Merlin to his feet. Merlin's knees were clumsy, and he barely managed to support his weight when suddenly called to do so.

  
Merlin gave a bark of surprise. “Arthur – what?”

  
Their eyes met as they stood a moment, bare inches between them. Merlin searched Arthur's gaze for some softness, but found only steel.

  
Arthur reached up. The backs of curled fingers stroked up Merlin's cheekbone. They glided to his neck, then caught Merlin's shoulder.

  
“Kneel,” Arthur breathed it with sharp ferocity.

  
The words were hardly out of Arthur's mouth before Arthur pressed him down. It didn't take much force. Merlin was still coltish on his feet. He was on his knees swifter than he could process the order. On his knees before Arthur, heart rapid with new fear.

  
“You've forgotten who you belong to,” Arthur said with anger ugly in its breadth. Merlin tried to raise. Arthur shoved him back down. He circled behind him. “You need to be reminded.”

  
From behind Merlin came the grind of a zipper.

  
The sound of loosening metal teeth jolted terror through Merlin. Not Arthur. Never. Arthur wouldn't! He couldn't!

  
Would he? All the fears that had flashed through his mind for the last hour swamped Merlin's mind. While it wasn't a fist aimed at him, rape was a crime no less violent. And it would be rape. The few feet they'd moved from the position where Merlin had clutched Arthur in passion might as well have been miles.

  
He refused to be a pliant victim. Minutes ago he'd have made love with Arthur happily, but he was not going to be taken as proof he was owned.

  
Merlin tried to uncoil his limbs to hurtle aside, to crawl away. Arthur's hand snatched at the top of his head and caught a handful of his hair. With a gasp of pain from Merlin, Arthur drew him back to the kneeling position. His grip loosened on the strands, but his hand remained on Merlin's head, anchoring.

  
Before Merlin could turn to look, to beg Arthur no, or even yelp a protest, the rippling slide of fluid splashed onto the back of his neck.

  
Merlin gave a whine of shocked protest that turned into a sustained wail.

  
Arthur was scentmarking him.

  
The heady bouquet of Arthur surrounded him. The aquarichor was hot on his clammy skin as it struck him. It soaked up into the hair at his collar, spattered across his shoulders. It rolled down his back, chest and belly to soak into the pajama bottoms. It defied those cloth barriers so trickles of aquarichor coursed down between his buttocks. It rained down onto the rug under him, dripping onto his bare toes.

  
And God, _God_ , there was no way that the effusion of wet should feel so good. It flowed over his body. It cloaked him. It drowned his startled displeasure at the violation. It drowned his anger, the indignity. It drowned the fear of violation. It drowned everything until all that existed was Arthur and his marking of Merlin.

  
Merlin's wail became a moan. It was a sound of wretchedness, as much as carnality.

  
There was a sumptuous possessorship to it. It was so wrong, and yet it was with horror and shame Merlin felt his arousal strengthen, rather than flag. The utter eroticism of the molten, silky, hot caress of the stream as it anointed him was compelling beyond resistance. As it marked him. As it made him Arthur's.

  
When it finally stopped, Merlin was panting, knuckles white, kneeling in a puddle, and marked.

  
“H-h-how could you?” he said between stabbing breaths from a throat clogged with betrayal.

  
He heard the sound of Arthur's zipper again. It was just under the rattle of Arthur's own harsh breathing.

  
There was broken glass and gravel in Arthur's tone. “Now, Merlin? You won't ever forget it. No one will. Now, _everyone_ will know who you belong to. They'll smell it on you everywhere you go, and know you're _mine._ ”

  
Merlin's dick jumped, hearing those words tumble off Arthur's tongue. _Yes, his, his_ , cried half of Merlin's fevered mind. But the other half fired with the violation, the imperiousness, and the cruelty of words and deeds. _Not his. Not anyone's._

  
Just when Merlin had begun to think that maybe, maybe something was possible between them. That maybe he couldn't bear letting Arthur go, and that his only option was to hold on.

  
But it was Merlin who had been lied to. Merlin who had been so wrong about his truemate.

  
The depth of transgression soon eclipsed the lingering desire. Merlin began to shake.

  
Arthur grasped his hair and tugged Merlin's head erect. Not enough to hurt, but certainly enough to illustrate the alpha's displeasure. He leaned in so close Merlin could feel breath coursing across his ear. “And I'm not going to have you. You're my pack, my truemate. I'll protect you, you'll wear my smell because you're mine, but I won't have you. I won't have someone who can't love and trust me, who isn't worth everything I've given.”

  
Something shuddered and broke free inside him. Merlin began to weep. Silent tears welled up. They rolled down his cheeks over rapid shuddering breaths. Misery spilling over.  
Arthur released him somewhat suddenly.

  
Merlin dropped to all fours. He crawled out of the worst of the mess soaking the rug, trying to contain the enormous swell of emotion. He left a wet trail that stunk of Arthur on his way to grab onto the coffee table. The wood was anchoring under his grasping hands. He gripped it and pressed his face to the glass top. The shock of cold splintered through his brain, reinforcing the last shreds of his dignity. He would not sob in front of this alpha. He would not.

  
“Get out.” It was a whisper, first. Then Merlin said it again and again. Each time louder, harder, firmer. Each repeated order bolstered him with a popping burst of strength. These built into a frantic torrent, fueling Merlin in a final display.

  
Empowered by raw humiliation, hurt and, above all, outrage, Merlin turned on Arthur. He was on his feet and shouting the eviction into Arthur's surprised face. He struck Arthur with his fists, shoved him, repeating the order over and over. “Get out, get out, get out!”

  
Then, somehow, they were at his front door. Arthur was pale-faced as Merlin pushed him out.

  
Merlin slammed the door closed behind him. As if with the bang of it, the momentum left him. He threw the locks, preventing Arthur from re-entering and turned away. Merlin made it only a few steps into the kitchen before his legs gave out. He went to his knees, then crumpled into a heap. He leaned against the kitchen counters, curled himself small and began to sob.

  
The next thing he knew soft hands were touching his cheek.

  
He started dopily and looked up.

  
“Freya ...?” Reedy hope that it was her erased any questions about how she'd come to be there. How she'd known he needed her. All that mattered was that she was here.

  
“Shh, it's okay,” Freya murmured, her brown eyes sad. She was hastily dressed, her keys still in her hand.

  
“Freya,” Merlin choked out, and reached for her.

  
“Shh, I'm here.” She caught his wrists before he could wrap his arms around her. “Let's get you washed off, okay?”

  
Merlin looked down at himself and realized he was still wet with Arthur's aquarichor. He nodded.

  
Freya helped him up, and took him back to the bathroom. He followed her gentle instructions, peeling out of the wet trousers and throwing them into the garbage bag she held out. She guided him through facing the shower to wash the worst of the stink away, offering soft encouragements. This long after emission, the aquarichor would be far less potent, though it was too late, Merlin knew. He was going to smell of Arthur for the next six months at least, no matter how hard or long he scrubbed. If he used the scent cancelling soap, he'd be able to keep it something of a secret.

  
When he got out, Freya wrapped him in a new towel. When he was dry, she poured him into bed, where Merlin curled up, uncaring about his nudity. In a moment, Freya slid in behind him, pulled the duvet over them and wrapped herself around him from behind. He felt the brush of warm skin as she tangled her limbs with his, and he knew she'd partially stripped down to join him.

  
As tremors shuddered through Merlin's system, Freya made low soothing sounds in the back of her throat. She stroked his hair, his shoulders, indulging him in the omega intimacy he'd tried to eschew for so much of his life. He could smell her, under the pervasive cloud of Arthur clinging to his flesh, could scent her comforting combination of paint and roses.

  
Hidden in her embrace, Merlin wept again. Rough and wet, wept until he felt empty.

  
He drifted.

  
The next he knew Gwen was there climbing into the bed with them. She crawled over to his unoccupied side to cuddle into him, and there was her mint and cotton smell. He tried to hold onto those smells, the smells of his friends, wrap them tight to him to mitigate the other, the one that now represented invasion and want never to be fulfilled.

  
He rarely noted smells, in the ordinary course of things. He caught them, of course, but they didn't become his foundation by which people were weighed and judged. Some did, he knew. Used the smell above all things. He rarely noticed … except now, in moments like these. When the smells were something he could hold onto, in addition to the sensation of their braided limbs wrapping protectively around him.

  
Only, roses and paint and cotton and mint were not nearly as sweet as salt-musk-cardomom. A smell he'd gone so far as to steal off jackets and pillow cases now surrounded him like a warning, like a claiming. Except he wasn't wanted. Except he didn't want.

  
Neither woman said anything, not even to ask the questions which must have been mounting. Smell and tears alone told a dark story.

  
Gwen stroked his hair, and Freya nuzzled his shoulder and after a time, Merlin let the weariness of the evening pull him into merciful unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The areas of the brain referenced in this fic are all real.
> 
> Excepting the A/B/O world terms and the Retiring Houses, all history here is also analogous with our own. Including Cromwell being decapitated after he was dead. History is fun!
> 
> The ring was found on Etsy at https://www.etsy.com/listing/162699132/tabitha-and-christie-band-14kt-rose-gold?utm_source=Pinterest&utm_medium=PageTools&utm_campaign=Share


	9. I Don't Believe Any Of It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late, I'm sorry people!  
> Number A: Kes and Stray! keeping me honest, and on track and without whom this fic would be a quivering lump of suck. Thank you two so much!
> 
> Number B: Gentles! The lovely Raina has made a great playlist for this fic! Please go have a listen, there are some very appropriate tunes on it, including the namesake song Heart in a Headlock. It can be found at 
> 
> http://8tracks.com/rainakomnene/heart-in-a-headlock-a-mix
> 
> The songs are really quite apt, so please, tune in while you read and give her some love. 
> 
> Thank you again Raina, Kes and Stray, and everyone who has participated in the wonderful discussions going on in the comments! As before, I'm not going to get involved directly in discussions of the text unless I'm very specifically asked something, but thank you so much for being so passionate, and also being respectful of those holding different opinions from your own. You gentles are all amazing, eloquent and encouraging!
> 
> Number C: A warning, there are discussions of what happened in the last chapter in this chapter, so if any of those occurrences were triggers for you -- and I know last chapter hurt a lot of you and I'm sorry -- they are brought up again here. Hopefully not in an upsetting way, but, be aware.

Morgana toyed with one of Aithusa's nipples lazily. She could just reach the right one, and there was no resisting the gorgeous pink confection. The left was just as perfect, and, as an added bonus, was ornamented. It had a surgical steel bar through it, the ends shaped like a dragon with glittering green gem eyes that winked morning light as the serpent alighted on Aithusa's nipple rolled with inhalation.

  
They were semi-tied in the cross position, with Morgana lying on her side, propping her head up, and Aithusa flat on her back, perpendicular, a pillow tucked under her hips to elevate her to the perfect height for her bottom to press into Morgana's groin. They'd had two enthusiastic bouts thus far, and Morgana had been ready to pull out when Aithusa signed to knot her. Now Aithusa had her heels braced against the wall behind Morgana, her head halfway off the small bed. Morgana was as far over as she could get, the space a bit cramped for her taste, but she was also a little too preoccupied to get worked up about it. She was still ejaculating in lovely little swirls of pleasure, helped along by the slim vibrator still tucked inside her. For the most part she was spent, but she liked the buzzing roll chasing the tightening of her balls.

  
Not all betas liked being knotted. Omegas, Chis and Thetas had vaginal musculature that tightened around the knot, locking it into their body, and they derived pleasure from the tie which was nigh inescapable until the knot softened. Betas didn't have the muscles for clamping, so it was just like having something swollen lodged up in their business. Morgana could have pulled out, nothing was stopping her, but Aithusa let her fully enjoy being knotted. Whether it was because she liked pleasing Morgana or she was a little kinky, Morgana had no idea. But they sprawled, every inhale carrying the sweet scent of sweaty skin and the tang of sex rich in the air, waiting for Morgana's knot to deflate. It could be another fifteen minutes.

  
Thankfully, Morgana had come to Aithusa's filled with news, which gave them plenty to talk about after the initial reclaiming of breath and praising each other.

  
While Morgana waited, she watched Aithusa finish tapping an answer to a recent query on her iPhone. Part of being with Aithusa was always having a phone with them, even in bed. Morgana's sign language was improving, but she was nowhere near fluent. Lest conversations get downright clunky, it was easier for Aithusa to read lips, and type out answers, particularly when they were in bed and had expelled their energies in other ways.

  
There was also that Aithusa liked it when Morgana talked in bed, and had been candid about how much she enjoyed the vibrations of speech on her skin. How she liked feeling Morgana's voice, even if she couldn't hear it.

  
For this level of discussion though, they needed the phone.

  
To decipher the ongoing and somewhat peculiar situation between Merlin's pack and Arthur's pack, Morgana had a mess of puzzle pieces and no clear idea of how they fit together. What might have been a leisurely process slotting the pieces into the full picture of Merlin-and-Arthur was made much more urgent this week by a worried phone conversation with Gwen, and Arthur going incommunicado. At first, Morgana thought one of their usual arguments had simply gotten out of hand, but the level of escalation and the grimness with which Gwen's update came spoke of something much more personal between the two.

  
By now, Arthur had not called her for over a week. It wasn't as if Morgana lived and died by his calls – she had plenty of other things going on, thank you – but, when Arthur set out to do something, he did it. He was mulish, in that way, and always had been. He'd been so assiduous about not only keeping contact, but meaningful contact, that Morgana couldn't help but appreciate the effort. Sending flowers during their estrangement was one thing. He could always have ordered an assistant to call a florist with minimal involvement. His calls, too, could have simply been the obligatory 'Hi, how are you' kind. Instead, he really tried to communicate, to make a connection. She knew that was harder for Arthur to do, a more direct thwarting of what she imagined Uther's wishes were concerning her, so it pleased her that Arthur was making a point to do it. Maybe she'd even become accustomed to it.

  
Arthur usually seemed to call on the weekend. Not exclusively, but habitually. When Monday had passed, Morgana had found it a little odd she hadn't heard from him, but Gwen's call on Tuesday had put an entirely different complexion on the enduring silence of the week. Well, inasmuch as it could, what with the content of Gwen's conversation being frustratingly vague. Morgana had gathered from Gwen's fretting that something explosive had happened between Merlin and Arthur on the previous Friday. Something which had included subduing, scentmarking and dramatics. The elusive nature of Gwen's recitation had annoyed Morgana until she'd realized that Gwen didn't know much more than what she was saying, with the possible exception of one or two salient details that Gwen clearly hadn't been at liberty to share.

  
Aithusa handed the iPhone over. _Started working with Uncle K last May._

  
“Your uncle studies truemates?”

  
Aithusa nodded, but Morgana had to shut her eyes against another lovely furl of pleasure. Still, she needed all her brain now, and when the last shudders ebbed she lifted her leg slightly and slid the vibrator out. It was hot in her hand, and a little sticky near the top.

  
“And Merlin joined this study suddenly. I've read all his published work, it's mostly It Sucks To Be An Omega And Here Are All The Data-Supported Reasons Why kind of stuff. The whole truemate thing is related to his field of study, but it seems a little fanciful for him,” Morgana thought out loud. She silenced the sibilant buzz of the vibrator with a thumb. She turned the pieces over in her mind. They were somewhat scattered, culled from Gwen's occasional allusive turn when gossiping, Morgana's own experience of living with Merlin and Gwen, and the significant amount of time Arthur had given over to visiting Merlin.

  
“Had he met your Uncle, before?” she asked, setting the vibrator aside.

  
Aithusa shook her head.

  
“So, he sought him out. He sought out someone who studied the truemate phenomenon.” Morgana frowned. Her best reference for truemates was still Romeo and Juliet with a side of Victor Laszlo and Ilsa Lund. Neither story had exactly ended well, and she'd never seen evidence that proved it was real. Sure, people said they were truemates, destined to be together, but even they got divorces and cheated on each other. Besides, the idea of a soul-mate was ridiculous. The species wasn't even supposed to be monogamous, which was why everyone fucked around on everyone else.

  
“What is he trying to prove, anyway? If it exists?”

  
 _If it does and how it works._

  
“And yet, Merlin decided that it was a hot research project and he needed to get on it. Did he believe in truemates before he started with your Uncle?”

  
Aithusa twitched her shoulder in a shrug, but her eyes were pointedly averted.

  
“Hm. Well, even say he did. Why, all of a sudden would he decide to work with another doctor, instead of just starting his own research? Why does he need someone else?” Morgana's gaze roved over Aithusa's body while she chewed over the notion. Why work with anyone? If you worked with someone you had to split the benefits. She'd learned that coming up in the industry; hire an art director to fine tune your ideas meant you had to pay them, which meant less profit. She doubted it was any different in any other field. Working with someone came down to two reasons, offhand: because that person had something you did not, or, it was something you simply couldn't do.

  
So. Kilgarrah had something Merlin needed. Which still didn't answer why. It wasn't a topic Merlin was innately interested in. Morgana should know, she had spent days cooped up in his apartment. She'd eschewed the internet and TV lest she be tempted to read and hear the worst humanity had to offer in terms of opinions about her pussy and/or her cock which had suddenly become the public's business. That had left her with Merlin's books. Endless books. Mountains of books. Books about history, science fiction, psychology, sociology, theology, sexuality, social theory, reference books and dozens of books on gender. What he didn't have were books about mates and mate taking. Not even hiding unread, not a single copy of _The Truemate Experience_ or _The Unverjunx Explained: How to Find Your Truemate_ or even a good trashy romance novel where the high class femega couldn't be with her low-born truemate malpha for Reasons, so he goes to sea and becomes a wealthy pirate and eventually kidnaps her for improbable boat-sex ever after. Maybe he'd hidden them all under his bed in a panic, but Morgana tended to think she hadn't seen them because they weren't there. Of the plethora of topics on Merlin's mind, the unumverumconjunx was not one of them.

  
So why start studying it?

  
After another surge of pleasure she began fumbling with the pillows to improve her comfort, turning that thought over and over in her mind. Why would Merlin suddenly throw himself into a topic he appeared to have no interest in?

  
Morgana jerked upwards in startled surprised. “Oh for manc's sake, he experienced it!”

  
Aithusa's breath caught harshly as Morgana's movement pulled at the swollen knot inside, roughly tugging it out by an inch or so, but also lurching Aithusa towards her a bit. Aithusa slung a stuffed Kuromi doll at Morgana.

  
It missed, but Morgana's eyes shot to her. “Merlin went out and found someone who specifically researched truemates because it happened to him!”

  
Aithusa fumbled for her phone. _Don't pull me by the junk._

  
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Are you okay?” Morgana tried to shift around without jarring them, checking to be sure she hadn't harmed Aithusa.

  
Aithusa waved and signed that she was okay before flopping back to lay down again, running her fingers through her hair. She spread her legs wider.

  
After a moment Morgana prodded her lightly. “I'm right, though, aren't I?”

  
Aithusa mimed zipping her mouth closed, her expression one of utmost _duh_.

  
Morgana knew she was right though. “It makes sense. Merlin is rolling merrily along, not giving a shit and then, you said, May? Right after Spring Run. At Spring Run he meets his truemate, so he runs right to a fellow scientist to explain it.” She was careful not to move any more, and peered down between them to be sure everything was generally all right.

  
Her testicles seized in another pleasant pulsing, but Morgana didn't let her mind get carried away by it. No, she was onto something. If Merlin had a truemate that did put a different spin on things. But, why hadn't he mated, then? Why start mock-blocking? Why Daegal?

  
And where did Arthur come in? If Merlin had a truemate, what the _hell_ was he doing side-eyeing her brother? She reached for a towel at the bed sides. Nothing would convince her Merlin wasn't giving her brother a yearning sort of look in secret little moments. She worked in an industry where people sought to capture that look on camera, so she knew it all too well.

  
It snapped into place even as Morgana felt her knot begin to soften ad she wedged the towel between their flushed flesh to catch the ejaculate. With her hand pressed there, pieces began clicking together, one right after the other.

  
Morgana sat bolt upright, her cock pulling free of Aithusa in a burst of sweet scraping, lube and cum. “Sweet Mother of Versace!”

  
Aithusa sat up and investigated her crotch, taking the towel and blotting herself, but Morgana hardly noticed.  
It made sense. A terrifying kind of sense. Merlin met his truemate at Spring Run.  
Merlin met Arthur at Spring Run.

  
And Arthur had been very, _very_ attentive to Merlin. That stupid bed, for a start.

  
But there was more. Little things. Like the way Arthur's eyes had gone bright and deadly when Morgana had bared her teeth at Merlin at their second confrontation. She'd challenged Arthur and he'd answered, but it had been mostly just the predictable alpha posturing. She'd never in a million years imagined Arthur would actually attack her, though some part of her had wanted to see if she could provoke him to violence. So, she'd fanged. Arthur had responded, sure, but it had been almost by rote. He'd fanged because she had, and he'd been raised to re-establish dominance by display.

  
But display had become lethally serious when he perceived even a shadow of danger for Merlin. When Morgana had snarled at Merlin, Arthur's eyes had filled with the threat which had been missing from his demonstrations. He had gone from fulfilling the biological imperative to being completely ready to rip her throat out, should it have come to that. She'd believed the conviction in his hot look, and that had given her the giddy adrenaline to face it, to further taunt him.

  
At the time she hadn't been able to account for it; she'd been too invested in the possible fight she had been courting to think about what precisely had been going through Arthur's head. Later, though, it niggled at her. Just little nagging thoughts that something about it had been weird.

  
With new perspective, the scene took an entirely new light. Arthur had only relaxed when Lance had shepherded Merlin across the room and had shielded him from potential peril. Morgana had been insulted Arthur had turned from her challenge to see this, and she'd goaded him. In terms of usual pack relations, there was no reason Arthur should have been concerned for a gangly beta. She'd hardly call Merlin a combat asset, to be sure, but theoretically, he was in the same boat as Lance and Leon. To be a beta in Arthur's pack, even an unofficial one, should have meant Merlin could hold his own, that Arthur could rely on Merlin to do so, and to back him up.

  
As Morgana went back over the scene, Arthur's instinctive and protective reaction could be totally expected. That his first concern had been Merlin's safety could be perfectly reasonable. That the turn to deathly seriousness could have total justification, with a little perspective.

  
If Arthur had defended his truemate, it all made perfect sense.

  
Except for the part where Arthur didn't seem to be at all aware of it. He was still going on about some omega he was trying to find on his way to being mated to zer. Could he be totally ignorant of Merlin's meaning to him? Consciously it seemed so, since his general treatment of Merlin had a casual bent. But, applying a deeper subconscious emotional connection to events between the two accounted for the more aberrant turns in Arthur's behavior; taking time off from his work to visit with 'Gwen and Lance', his derogatory comments about Daegal, and even his claiming of Merlin for drinks. Arthur was particularly attentive to Merlin.  
Logic couldn't help but intrude on Morgana's recollections. Wouldn't a more reasonable explanation be selfishness and prejudice? Arthur was hardly a paragon of virtues. His interest really could be just pack related. Perhaps Arthur even had a subconscious awareness of Merlin's true sexugender and so his lizard brain was telling Arthur Merlin was a perfectly viable resource for a quick tumble. Or, even on the virtue side of things, Arthur had always had a soft spot for anyone brave enough to tell him he was full of shit to his face.

  
Actually, come to think of it, the growling at Morgana was about the only moment between the two she could recall where their behavior was particularly and explicitly denotative of mates. One automatic and instinctive instance was hardly evidence that they were truemates. They sniped with fire and sexual attraction, yes, but a truemate should have inspired some tender emotion, shouldn't ze? Merlin had been dating Daegal and Arthur was probably banging his secretary, while the papers promised he was all up inside Mithian, but despite these commitments, she wouldn't have said Arthur and Merlin were pining for one another. They didn't paint a picture of two people tragically parted by circumstance or prior commitment.

  
Shouldn't truemates notice each other? Be unable to keep their hands off each other? Shouldn't Arthur, upon seeing Daegal tangled with Merlin, rushed over to pull him off? Shouldn't Merlin have tried tying Arthur's wrists to the headboard and given Arthur a simultaneous ride of his life and education on living with an independent omega?

  
Then again, her barometer for appropriate behavior was the Capulets and the Montagues.

  
If Merlin had known all along that he and Arthur were truemates, what was he doing with that information? Well, besides turning himself into a guinea pig, which Morgana found a little creepy. Surely he must have had some plan, outside of studying himself.

  
But Merlin was not an open book of a fellow, for all he put up a front that he was. Morgana believed the trustworthiness and kindness he radiated, enough that when the news about her had broken, she'd known he'd offer her sanctuary. Yes, she believed in his integrity, but not the guileless what-you-see-is-what-you-get demeanor. When she'd first met him at Dr. Aglain's, he was wound up tight as a corset in his tweedy clothing. It had been Morgana who had answered the questions, Morgana who had told her story in the starkest terms, Morgana had who revealed all, and yet, at the same time, Merlin had told his own tale. Not directly, but in motion, recitation and demeanor. Even before looking at his palm, Morgana had known he was a heavily fortified castle terrified of siege.

  
...And yet he would have been relieved to be conquered. She was almost sure of that. If someone had staked a foreign flag on his soil, he could stop being on red alert all the time, provided the flag wasn't there to crush the populace. Outside of how tightly wound he was, even living in his world for those weeks had not given Morgana any deep insight into how he worked. She doubted she really knew what he thought and felt. He was too guarded behind those walls.

  
And maybe that was it. Merlin was the fort, and Arthur the enemy, camped on the hill.

  
Except Morgana was positive Arthur had had no idea. He had been a visiting entourage, blithe and unaware of the danger he had represented.

  
Why not surrender to Arthur, if he was there and waiting and apparently sincere about the whole thing? Morgana was willing to bet that Merlin wanted him, and more than in a strictly sweaty sense. Not that Merlin would be the kind of spouse Arthur was imagining. He was not a society maven, and would have neither the first clue nor the slightest inclination to learn how to throw the perfect soiree, or when to entertain bullshit from some guy in a suit for the sake of business. He wasn't what Arthur, or, it must be said, Uther, was anticipating for Arthur's omega.

  
… And what might the two of them do, to make Merlin a more acceptable spouse? It could be her bias towards Uther's inhumanity, but she wouldn't put Stockholm Syndrome past him as an acceptable method of conditioning.

  
Wasn't it supposed to be an omega thing, to sense the whole OMG TRU LUFF? With Merlin mock-blocking, Arthur never would have smelled him to know he was omega, let alone anything else. So, maybe there was safety in Arthur not knowing who Merlin was, and thereby avoiding Uther's enforced omega brainwashing.  
Or, there had been, until this Friday.

  
Whatever explosion had occurred, it had changed Arthur from ignorant to informed. She needed to get to the bottom of that as well.

  
Aithusa finally managed to grab Morgana's attention when she nudged her in the jaw with the phone.  
Morgana blinked at her, lost for a moment before she took it.

  
 _What the hell?!_ stared up at her in tiny accusing pixels.

  
Morgana swallowed and rubbed her face. “I think . . . I think my brother is Merlin's truemate.”

  
Aithusa's eyebrows swung way up into her bangs and her eyes widened.

  
“Arthur and Merlin,” Morgana murmured.

  
The phone faced her again. _Wtf?_

  
Morgana kicked the blankets aside and climbed out of bed. Her cock had gone soft and a little messy with assorted fluids, but she could hardly feel it. She was still arguing with herself back and forth, because she had to be rational about this, but deep in the pit of her belly, she knew.

  
She'd wandered halfway to the bathroom before she turned around to where her own phone was still plugged into the charger on the nightstand. With a few jabs of her fingers, she texted Gwen.

  
She glanced up to Aithusa afterward. “Sorry. I'm a little shocked – maybe not shocked but … something.”

  
Something a little annoyed, and something a little frightened. It put an entirely different complexion on most of the interactions of the two groups. How many of them knew already? Gwen for certain. Freya probably.  
And Arthur had found it out and...? Whatever had gone down it had been ugly. Something that had left Merlin devastated and sent Arthur into silence. While, admittedly, Morgana was prone to think Arthur had done something damn stupid, she needed more information before she went to kick his balls in.

  
That way she'd know how hard to kick.

  
Or if she should kick at all, though that was on the low end of possibilities. Whatever Merlin had obscured, whoever he was to Arthur, Arthur had no right to mark him if it hadn't been what Merlin wanted. Maybe other people would find the details of it mitigated Arthur's culpability, but all Morgana could think of was her brother holding Merlin down, coating this unruly subject in his scent, which had no purpose except to announce to the world he was owned. That Arthur owned him, and that Arthur proving his Terribly Important Alpha Ownership was more important than anything else in the world. Including Merlin's wants.

  
Hell, considering the picture Gwen had painted, more important than Merlin's _well-being_. But Arthur had done it anyway. For himself, she had little doubt. To prove he was in charge of this subordinate who had done the unthinkable, and had been given the social capacity to thwart his wants and tell his knot no. Morgana could just hear Uther's words about proving alphaness, lest, presumably, it be taken from you.  
Sometimes Morgana was amazed that, for as big and powerful and important as alphalinity apparently was, it was incredibly easy to rob someone of a fundamental part of their gender. After all, no one attributed loss of omeganess or betaness to outside influences.

  
Then again, maybe Morgana was one of the few people who knew how insecure Arthur really was. Not that he still shouldn't have known better. Either way, neither Gwen nor Merlin nor Freya was going to be reading Arthur the riot act he deserved. Morgana didn't know if she wanted to hope they would levy charges against him, since the law did such a pathetic job handling those claims that just kicking Arthur in the testicles would be a swifter and more apt punishment than anything the law would dole out.

  
“They're all too nice for their own good,” Morgana murmured acidly to the phone, then looked down at Aithusa, who was working on her phone again.

  
 _Are you okay?_

  
“Yes. No? A little shocked, but I'm getting used to it. In a lot of ways it makes some hideous kind of sense,” Morgana said.

  
Aithusa scooted towards the edge of the bed and laid her head against Morgana's hip. Morgana slid the tips of her fingers through the freshly shaved patch of hair. It had been dyed like pink leopard skin for Valentine's Day, and Morgana found caressing the fuzz soothing.

  
 _What are you going to do?_

  
The beeping of Morgana's phone jarred her. Gwen was prompt to respond.

  
“Well, looks like I'm going to brunch,” Morgana smiled thinly.

  
Aithusa tilted her head, and Morgana turned the screen to face her so she could read Gwen's text. Aithusa's eyes flew over the invitation, then quirked a brow at Morgana.

  
“Then I am going to get the truth out of the slippery fuckers if I have to kill them,” Morgana said, fresh determination seeping into her gut.

  
She stepped forward and pressed a kiss to Aithusa's brow. Aithusa smiled back up at her, then waved her away, flopping back down to curl amongst the tousled sheets.

  
Morgana headed for the bathroom. She ordered up a scalding shower and started to scrub. Her dander was up, but she had to remind herself to remain calm. Screaming randomly was not going to get her anywhere. Dealing with Pack Emrys required finesse.

  
In an effort to find the patience for that finesse, Morgana's shower was much longer than she meant it to be, but by the time she stepped out of the shower she was ready for anything.

  
Morgana dressed for war. Her dress was indigo satin with a peplum pencil skirt, the stark lines maintained with some serious form control underwear. She wore black suede slingbacks that she probably could have murdered someone with, in a pinch. She finished off with two bracelets and a necklace of sharpened claws of volcanic rock. A little smoky eyeshadow, and she was ready to terrify anyone that needed terrifying.

  
Aithusa clapped when Morgana showed off the final ensemble, and set her out the door with a piece of toast and a kiss.

 

Gwen's sweet little house made Morgana smile when she pulled up. Even if it looked like Mary Engelbreit had exploded inside, it had been a refuge for her in dark times. So had Gwen. In that regard, Morgana was sure that if Merlin had balked in the slightest from taking advantage of her hospitality, Gwen had kicked him into accepting. Gwen had said the scentmarking had been unwilling. That meant it was unlikely that the marking had been given the forethought of a dropcloth, or the convenience of a bathroom. Which meant Merlin's new place probably stank, and Gwen wouldn't have let him stay there.

  
Even if it didn't, Morgana knew about living in a place where you'd been assaulted. If Merlin didn't want to set fire to the house, and that bed Arthur had bought him, then his idea of 'well-adjusted' looked a hell of a lot more like 'deny and repress'. They were all so civilized, Merlin's inner circle. As much as Morgana wanted to give them credit for being considerate, she was quite aware that sometimes you had to pulverize something to release the toxins. She doubted that Freya, Gwaine or Gwen had the stones to do it, and Morgana owed Merlin. She was a Pendragon in that regard; she didn't forget her debts. Merlin had helped her set her life back on track. It was only right she do the same for him.

  
For the moment, she sat in the car and gathered herself, considering how that agenda might be achieved. When ready, she tossed on her long wool wrap and went to knock on the door.

  
Freya answered in an overlarge green sweater and holey jeans. Though Morgana wasn't entirely sure Freya knew the year in which they were living, she quite liked her. Her presence was notable, though. For all they protested not being a pack, they were behaving like one. Freya's showing up for an impromptu tea looked an awful lot like circling the wagons around a wounded member. Pack. Family. Same difference, in the end.  
“Freya, dear,” Morgana greeted. She unwound her wrap to hand it over to the designated coat check girl in the rainbow toe-socks, as well as a kiss of greeting.

  
“Hello.” Freya sniffed and offered a smile that was a particular cunning mixture of shy and knowing. “How's Aithusa?”

  
“Going off to class with a few more hickeys than she intended,” Morgana said, amused.

  
“Sounds like a nice morning,” Freya said.

  
“It was.” Morgana let her smile turn lascivious for just a moment before reining it in.

  
Freya looked a little rueful. “I need to be having more meaningless sex before I get mated, only I don't like the kind of alphas that you can tell are looking for meaningless sex. I need meaningless sex from alphas who look like they want meaningful sex but would be satisfied with supplying me with meaningless sex before I find my meaningful sex.”

  
Morgana wagged a finger. “Don't discount the meaningless sex. You can find meaningful sex while looking for meaningless sex.” She glanced around. “Where are they?”

  
Freya gestured to the kitchen, then toddled to the coat closet, looking as if she were still contemplating the sex, significance unknown.

  
The best way to handle these three – and it was three, she couldn't smell Gwaine – was not to beat around the bush, but also not to hit Merlin with a sledgehammer straight off. If he fell to pieces, no one would ever get anything out of him, and Morgana wanted answers, not rubble.

  
Morgana found Merlin and Gwen in the kitchen, as advertised. They were assembling a tray with a tea set, some finger sandwiches and cookies. Gwen was in her frilly pinafore apron, and Merlin an extremely unfortunate, oversized argyle sweater vest which Morgana was going to have to contact an assassin to take care of, because it had no business existing. He was so beautifully made, cut such a neat figure, and yet he dressed as if he had to comply with some dorky paunchy professor dress code. Only, Merlin didn't have any paunch.

  
She was going to break him out of ill-fitting, cheaply-made, color-clashing dress habits if it killed her. She was willing to bet the beautiful suit she'd gotten him for Christmas was stowed away somewhere for 'special occasions'. If only she hadn't seen his closet already she could have had the belief that he was in a male version of a Crisis Muumuu, instead of just having tragic taste and an aversion to tailoring.

  
Gwen called a greeting as Morgana stepped through the archway into the kitchen. Merlin looked up and offered her a nod and a smile, neither pointedly emotive nor evasive. She answered in kind, but her mind was working on a thorough survey of Merlin.

  
Morgana looked him over head to toe, but discarded the fashion alarms her brain automatically sounded off. He looked like his usual self at first glance, but with a little scrutiny Morgana was sure she spotted a core of tension in the way he moved. While it could have been the lighting, Morgana was sure one side of his face looked a little yellow. His neck was covered by his collar, but Morgana already knew Arthur had subjugated Merlin. Twice. Gwen hadn't stinted on the details there. One full subjugating bite and one minor, both healing nicely, though it was the second tetanus shot Merlin had gotten within a year for strange alpha bites. There would be pink injuries just healed over under the hideous knitwear. Injuries her brother had made. That still made a secret part of Morgana clench with unease. Arthur had actually subjugated Merlin. He'd crossed that boundary. Had he hit Merlin too?

  
She went directly to Merlin and caught his wrist to still him, to draw him slightly away from the counter. His sinews jerked under her fingers, and for a moment he looked as if he wanted to resist, but he let her. After a moment confirming that, yes, one cheek was discolored, she stepped around him. With care, she leaned in until the tip of her nose tucked into the crevice between the black curls at the nape of his neck and the curve of pale blue collar. As she scented him, he tried to scrunch up like a turtle.

  
You'd have to be looking for it, it was so buried under a cocktail of scent covering products and scent additives, but it was there. Just the softest thread of Arthur curling around the edges of Merlin's smell of books and yeast. He _had_ marked Merlin. Had doused him in his scent, and Merlin had in turn layered camouflage on top of it. Well, what did she expect? For him to blubber and cry? Of course he covered it up and forged ahead.

  
Morgana had a flash of being eight years old and presented with the infamous ewer full of Uther's aquarichor for the first time. It was just a week or two after her parents' death, and so the memory stood out starkly from her sea of grief. She'd never even heard of scentmarking until that point, and she didn't understand the oblique references a pained-looking nanny tried to fumble through. Morgana had been terrified. The nanny clearly didn't want to explain, just ordered her to take her clothes off, so, as Morgana slowly began to realize, she could dump the smelly contents of that pitcher on the silver tray all over her. Morgana had been repulsed. She'd refused. Then had come a lecture. She didn't remember most of it, though it did contain references to Morgana's ingratitude and indebtedness to her uncle, her youth and therefore ignorance about the workings of the world, and enough veiled threats about sending her to some other hellish place to make Dickens proud. It had broken her resolve, in the end.

  
She had cried through it. Even when she had been a teenager she had sometimes cried, though by then they had been furious, silent tears so that whatever warden waiting outside the shower wouldn't hear. Some people were apt to think it was just smell; it wore off. Maybe so. If it was a bad decision made in a tense moment, then yes, it was an inconvenience. A forced mark – by physical force or coercion – was another matter altogether, and in that instance it was no longer 'just a smell'. People who were easy to dismiss it didn't understand the bone deep pain of someone making you bear their scentmark where it was not wanted. And it was force, Morgana didn't care what snooty politicians said, who only saw assault with bruises or rape with a penis. They didn't have to live smelling yourself every day and knowing someone could make you smell like them, make you walk in the world with the scent of their ownership as a sign of your powerlessness. You didn't forget it when it surrounded you like a cloud, not for a single second.

  
Morgana pressed her brow to the back of Merlin's head and took a short breath. Then she drew back and looked at him. He was looking back at her and there was a certain set to his mouth, a resignation that made Morgana think he was letting her smell him for her own peace of mind.

  
Morgana let go of his wrist and angled her head to look at his cheek once more. Yes indeed, it was into the sallow end of healing. Forget kicking Arthur in the balls, she was going to rip them off and feed them to her brother, seasoned with cyanide.

  
“Did my brother rape you?” she asked, soft and solemn. She needed to know, even if she had her thready little hope that it wasn't so. She needed to know for sure.

  
Merlin shook his head, hie eyes never leaving hers. “No. No, he didn't.”

  
Morgana searched his face. Such a look he had. She hadn't been lying when she'd said he could make millions with that fae face. Those devastating cheekbones, the plush, expressive mouth, piercing blue eyes, and a sweetness that curved at the edges into something with the possibility of darkness. His chin was up, firmed, and to anyone else he would have looked oh-so-fine. Morgana could see how guarded he was. As if being forthright would prove how very okay he was, even daring someone to take a shot so he could prove it by standing tall. Only, Morgana doubted he really could stand up to all those shots he was ready to take.

  
She decided he was telling the truth, though. “Small mercy, I suppose. He still marked you and beat you like the miserable shit that he is.” A very thin consolation it was.

  
Merlin's hand fluttered to his cheek. “No. He didn't do this either. This was a misunderstanding.”

  
“I swear,” Merlin added when he saw her skepticism.

  
Did she believe that? She wanted to. Arthur was an entitled shit who kowtowed to Uther, but he was also, Morgana could begrudgingly admit, weirdly valiant on occasion. Arthur knew what the right thing was. He even usually managed to do the right thing, when there weren't outside forces peering over his shoulder and reminding him of the expectations and obligations he lived under. Uther had a way of weaving honor, duty and loyalty into a kind of cudgel, and beating Arthur with it.

  
Morgana stepped back from Merlin, releasing him. “I'm dying to know what kind of accident followed up an alpha assault.”

  
Gwen slid between them, smoothing her apron. “Morgana. It's so lovely to have you, I'm glad you came down, I've been meaning to get your expert opinion. Merlin, could you take over the coffee? I just want to ask Morgana something before I forget.”

  
Distraction was the name of the game, hm? Fine. Morgana glanced at Merlin who was eyeing Gwen with some weird mix of Oh-Yes-Please-Take-Her-Away and But-I-Totally-Could-Have-Handled-That. She wondered if they thought they were subtle. Ah well, she could launch a second attempt at cracking Merlin when they were armed with beverages. For the moment she let Gwen lead her away, into her bedroom and the dainty little writing desk where Gwen kept her business things and mounds of pretty stationery. Gwen was one of the people in the nation keeping the post office alive.

  
Morgana watched Gwen retrieve a stack of folders of assorted thickness. She sorted through them. They were all neatly labeled, and Morgana saw 'Wedding Cake', 'Wedding Decorations', 'Engagement Party Dress' dropped into a pile before Gwen had the one she wanted. Unsurprisingly, it was entitled 'Wedding Dress'. The remaining folders were discarded on the pile and Gwen opened up the one in her hands. Inside there were printed pictures, pages torn from magazines and even a sketch or two.

  
“I'm almost definitely decided on a princess, though I am still considering a mermaid gown,” Gwen said, rifling pictures. Her style clearly ran to elegance, embroidery, and lace.

  
“You want me to have a word with Kleinfelds, or a specific designer?” Morgana asked. She had the connections, after all, and she didn't mind using them for Gwen.

  
“Oh, no! No, I want to make it,” Gwen said.

  
Morgana blinked.  
“You want to... make it?” she asked, uncertainly. Why on earth to Gwen want to put herself through that when she could just buy one?

  
Gwen nodded. “If I start now, I can make a dummy version out of cheap cloth and fit it, then make it again out of the real material and do the hand beading and embroidery. I like the idea of making my own dress. Something just for me, that I made.”

  
“Well, what do you need me for?” Morgana asked, and then squinted at Gwen. “I don't sew, so don't even think of it.”

  
Gwen actually laughed at that. Morgana didn't know if she found it comforting or insulting. She decided to go with comforting, as it wouldn't end with her on a couch with a needle expected to stitch something to something else. She wore clothes, she didn't make them.

  
“Don't worry. Freya will help me with the beading. No, I wanted to ask you about fabric.”

  
“Oh.” Relief washed over her. “Right. Fabric. This I can do.”

  
“I don't want white, I mean, white is traditional, but I am not a traditional virgin. I thought lavender, or yellow, maybe? In faille, or duchesse satin or a silk? I don't know. Something that drapes well, in a good color. I thought you could tell me where to go to get a good fabric at a good price.” Now Gwen looked entreating. Morgana didn't doubt the sincerity of the question, though the timing was still pointed.

  
“I know a few places,” Morgana said, and reached down to pluck up the folders, rifling through them to see what else Gwen had in mind. “You'll have to come up for a weekend. We'll go shopping.”

  
“I'd like that,” Gwen said.

  
Morgana lifted up the engagement party dress folder and waggled it at Gwen. “I haven't gotten an invitation to this, are you jumping the gun being ready or snubbing me?”

  
Gwen sighed and sunk down to sit on the bed. “It wasn't my idea. I don't even want to go. It's being thrown by, well, Senator Pendragon.”

  
Morgana snorted. She might have known. “Well. At least there's a good reason I haven't been invited. When is it?”

  
“In two weeks. I was meant to start dress shopping already, but with things the way they are I haven't had a mind for it.” Gwen picked up the folders and began to stack them.

  
On impulse, Morgana asked, “Is it still on?”

  
“Yes. At least, I haven't heard differently. I haven't seen Lance all week. We've talked on the phone, but just for a few minutes. He's so sweet though,” Gwen pulled her phone out and after a few punches turned it around to show off a gif of a kitten danging from a blanket about an inch off the floor. _Hang in There!_ was written across the top. “He keeps sending things like this.”

  
Gwen beamed at the gif, further solidifying some mild suspicion Morgana had that Gwen was really an alien from a foreign, chintz-and-color-coordinated planet where people like Anne Geddes and and Martha Stewart were venerated as goddesses.

  
But she swallowed her bile and forced a smile. “Isn't that nice?”

  
“He is.” Gwen smiled, thoroughly enchanted.

  
“I think Merlin's probably finished with the coffee. Why don't you go help him along?” Morgana prompted, wanting nothing to do with a discussion of the relative adorability of Gwen and Lance. Sure, she'd been all gung-ho about the OMG-Lance-eats-pussy-like-a-champ-I've-never-had-a-man-so-excited-to-go-crotch-snorking conversation, but as soon as actual cats came into the talk, Morgana was out.

  
She left Gwen replacing her inspiration files and headed for the sitting room. There was a fire going in the hearth and there were a lot more winter throws laid casually around on furniture than Morgana remembered. All in aid of warding off the February chill. She spied an unfamiliar book bag, and a few other possessions she knew must have been Merlin's strewn about, contrary to Gwen's medical cleanliness. Gwen was even letting him be untidy, on top of letting Merlin's presence and the shadow of what had happened cow her out of inviting her fiancé over.

  
Freya was curled into the corner of the couch nearest to the fireplace, a sketchpad on her lap, doodling.  
“Well, Freya. How's the fam?” Morgana asked and insinuated herself in an armchair.

  
“Mother's angry her aunt signed her up for pole dancing classes as a Christmas gift,” Freya offered.

  
Morgana laughed, as she imagined Auntie and Freya got along quite well. “Would this be your great aunt, the one who took you to your first strip club when you turned eighteen?”

  
“That's the one,” Freya said with a smile.

  
After a bit of polite conversation Gwen and Merlin came in, bearing the tray and a french press. Aromatic bitter-rich coffee mingled with the homey scent of woodsmoke.

  
“Here we are,” Gwen said, arranging everything on the coffee table. She perched on the couch and began serving out coffee to the sound of the fire spitting and Freya's pencil brushing against paper. Merlin parked himself in the chair catty-cornered to hers with the coffee table between them.

  
Even though Gwen had a pleasant upbeat expression and Freya was sketching, Morgana could tell there was an alertness to the trio. Apparently they were well aware she came bearing arms, and they were just hoping she didn't draw.

  
“So. Merlin's gotten comfortable here, has he?” Morgana asked, her gaze on Merlin. She might as well justify their wariness.

  
“Yes, I think so,” Gwen said, still busy preparing everyone's drinks.

  
“Well. At least you never properly unpacked your house before you had to pack it again,” Morgana said. It had the desired reaction of making Merlin's shoulders twitch just a bit.

  
“It's just until there are a few more places on the market. Winter is a slow period for real estate,” Gwen handed out the cups.

  
“Merlin's coming to stay with me next week,” Freya volunteered, pausing her pencil.

  
“Oh, we're taking turns? When does he come stay with me?” Morgana asked. The idea of hauling Merlin around and giving him a post break-up/harsh life event make-over had merit. It would give her an opportunity to correct his wardrobe and take him to a club she knew where insanely well built alphas served drinks while being as close to naked as the law would allow without below the belt hairnets. In this way she could perk, snazz and liven him up. And return some of his hospitality.

  
“Hell of a commute for my classes,” Merlin said, stirring his coffee.

  
Morgana rolled her eyes. “At the weekend, of course. Maybe when Gwen comes up to look for her dress fabric?” Morgana took a cookie from the plate Gwen was offering around for politeness' sake, and stuck it on the edge of her saucer.

  
There were a few seconds lull while they looked at each other as if unsure who was in charge of answering, before Merlin nutted up and said, “I really just feel like staying close to home.”

  
Ironic, as he didn't have one, at the moment.

  
“With Gwen, Freya, Finna and Gwaine?” Morgana checked.

  
“I don't want to be underfoot too long. Besides, Gwen will need some time with Lance.” Merlin grabbed a sandwich.

  
“But isn't staying with Gwaine a little awkward?” Morgana asked. Not that Gwaine seemed dangerous. Morgana got the impression Gwaine had had a bit of a crush on Merlin, but considering how many people he'd flirted with at her New Year's party, and the femalpha he'd left with, Morgana assumed his feelings on the matter were resolved, or at least masked with lots of sex with whomever would oblige him, as the physio- and sexugender of his partners didn't seem to matter.

  
Hm. Note to self, she still needed to find out how discreet he could be. He looked game for anything, and Aithusa thought he was hot.

  
But, at the end of the day, he was a malpha, big and strapping. No getting around that, and Morgana didn't like the idea that her company was somehow less desirable than his.

  
“Gwaine isn't a problem,” Merlin said, firm and discouraging any elaboration.

  
She could read his preference for her to drop the whole matter, but the fact that he was taking everyone's hospitality but hers did rankle a little. He couldn't even spare a weekend with Gwen there as a chaperone? He didn't even offer a bullshit hope by saying yes now and simply failing to schedule it?

  
“I hope you're not holding the fact that I am, technically, a Pendragon against me,” Morgana said before she could squash the impulse, though she did manage to make it sound less bitchy than it had been in her head.

  
Despite her effort, the room went so quiet she could hear all three of them breathing. Apparently **Pendragon** was one of the forbidden words. She had really good odds on what the other most taboo of all the words to be spoken in Merlin's presence was. It was a name that preceded 'Pendragon' and it wasn't Uther. Not that Morgana didn't have equal faith that mentioning the Senator would send Merlin screaming for the hills.

  
Gwen and Freya had frozen. The air became decidedly pregnant. Morgana saw them both flick swift glances at Merlin, gauging his reaction before directing their gazes back to their respective tasks. It was totally ridiculous. The gravity of their response was more on par with saying a magic word to summon a supernatural killer with a hook for an arm who was going to pop up and commence indiscriminate slaughter.

  
Usually it was sluts first, wasn't it? If he did pop up he'd probably come for Morgana first, seeing as she was in a bastion of middle-class virtue.

  
Merlin said nothing, nor was he suddenly eviscerated by the Hook-man. In a rush both Freya and Gwen hastened to fill the yawning conversational void.

  
“We should all get together in the summer, before I go to Europe,” Freya said.

  
At the exact same time Gwen said, “I think that Merlin should get a place with a bigger yard, so he can plant a vegetable garden, don't you think?”

  
Morgana almost laughed at the pathetic attempt to ditch the subject.

  
“What would he do with vegetables?” Morgana asked dryly, unable to resist poking at exactly how far-fetched Gwen's distraction was. Maybe he could grow his own sex toys, but it felt a little crass to say it out loud.

  
“Merlin can cook,” Gwen said, stacking her folded towels with obsessive precision.

  
Morgana raised a brow. He'd boiled water and microwaved, but Morgana's stay with Merlin had proved he largely lived off of Gwen's leftovers, the four dishes he had learned from his mother, and sandwiches. None were a rousing endorsement of Merlin as a domestic goddess.

  
Morgana made an annoyed noise. “I didn't realize I was so terrifying to be alone with. Unlike my brother, I'm not actually going to force Merlin into anything he doesn't want.”

  
The silence was back. Apparently no one knew what to say, and their shifty eyes were the last straw.

  
“Morgana, I'm not sure this is the best time, you know?” Gwen entreated, her eyes big and dewy like one of the revolting kitten gifs.

  
Morgana didn't bother to mask her annoyance this time. “It's not as if I'm a stranger, it's not as if whatever has happened is immaterial to me. It's not as if I haven't been through the same kind of bullshit.”

  
When Gwen and Freya failed to speak up with sufficient speed with clumsy re-directions, Morgana turned to Merlin, who was still contemplating his sandwich as if someone had inscribed the answer to life, the universe and everything in the fluffy texture of the bread. “You do remember I related some of my most sordid and painful personal history to you, don't you?”

  
Morgana stared at Merlin. She could see him struggling with it, and yes, her heart wanted to go out to him because he was such a precious dewy-eyed little lamb, but if she did do as he wished and left it alone, he'd be a precious little lamb sinking into the mire. He might not like being grabbed by the fleece to be yanked free, but it had to hurt to heal, and Morgana knew she was the only one heartless enough to ignore his piteous bleating of protest.

  
“I do remember,” Merlin said. He put the sandwich down.

  
Morgana said, “Then I would think you would also remember that such intimacies can go both ways.”  
“Morgana, I'm sure Merlin doesn’t want to discuss this right now,” Gwen said, the tone still polite but also firm, though her towel folding got a little sharper.

  
The words shot cold through Morgana. A reminder that after all she'd trusted them and told them she was still an outsider. She'd already proved herself prepared to revile her own flesh and blood should they behave like fucktards, hadn't she? And still. Still.

  
It stuck in her craw. She didn't let it show on her face, though. She was many things, but never would one of them be weak.

  
She looked straight ahead. “Well. Since I have the choice, I think I'll choose the fact that you see me as a Pendragon as the reason I'm not worth the trust, rather than something in my demeanor,” Morgana sipped her coffee with clipped intent.

  
In her peripheral vision Morgana saw Gwen blanch. Freya looked uncomfortable. Merlin set his coffee down and rubbed at the bridge of his nose as if he could feel a headache coming on. Morgana didn't care.

  
“We're just giving Merlin time and space,” Gwen tried to soothe after a moment or two's awkward silence. “He'll talk when he's ready.”

  
Morgana set her coffee cup down in such haste the china rattled. “You mean you haven't talked about this _at all?_ Not even between yourselves?” Incredulity flushed her as she stared at the trio. No. No. There was no way they'd be so foolish as that, was there? They wouldn't let Merlin fob them off with statements about how very fine he was, would they?

  
In an instant Morgana knew they would. Knew, because when the chips were down, Merlin led their little family. He would never give orders, or succumb to the slightest hint of the systemized pack behavior he had such an aversion to, but Morgana wasn't stupid or blind. Freya, Gwen, even Gwaine took subtle cues from Merlin. If he put his foot down, Morgana had no doubt they would defer.

  
At least it wasn't just her then.

  
She came to her feet, long legs untangling so sharp heels dug into the carpet, arms akimbo. “My God, have you people learned nothing from me? Haven't you learned how fucking corrosive silence can be?”

  
“Morgana!” Gwen made gentling motions. “It's only been a week. Give it time.”

  
“Unbelievable.” Morgana strode over to Merlin, bent over him and planted her hands on the arms of his chair.  
Merlin tensed slightly as she thrust herself into his personal space. His brows lowered some as he eyed her warily.

  
“Tell me you've talked about this,” she told him.

  
“I know you mean well, but leave it, Morgana,” Merlin said, careful and slow.

  
“Merlin.”

  
“It's _fine_ ,” Merlin insisted.

  
“Bullshit,” Morgana snapped. “Don't talk to me if you don't want to, but you talk to them.” She threw a hand back towards Freya and Gwen, who were frozen on the couch. Merlin's eyes followed the motion, but settled back on Morgana's face.

  
Morgana plowed ahead. “You talk to them until their ears bleed, do you hear me? Don't you dare walk around with that sitting inside you like some time bomb. Don't you dare try and pretend it didn't happen, because it did. You can't erase it. If you repress it, it will only get stronger until it breaks you apart. You, of all people, should know better.”

  
“Morgana, I really don't think this is your business.” Some little bit of temper worked its way into Merlin's voice, and he stared up at her. Morgana almost smiled in success. There. That little flare of angry defensiveness. That was what she wanted to see, needed to know was inside him. If it was still there, it could be stoked.

  
“I say again, bullshit. Whether you like it or not you're my friend. Since when is your well-being not my business? And it's hardly just _your_ business, now is it? Whatever happened, it happened with Arthur. So, like it or not, it affects Lance, so it affects Gwen. It affects my brother so it affects me, not to mention Arthur's pack. And yours. All of us. I'd warrant everyone has already picked sides because it does involve us all; so it is, in some small way, our business.”

  
“We're not a pack. And there are no sides,” Merlin said. He did flinch when she said Arthur's name, but rather than the taboo word ratcheting tension, it almost seemed to relieve him. How long had it been since someone had actually said it in his presence?

  
“Merlin, how can you say that, after...?” Gwen pressed her lips closed and dropped her attention back to her laundry.

  
There was no way Morgana was letting that get by. “After what?” she asked sharply, turning to Gwen.  
When the couch renewed its silence Morgana rolled her eyes. “Come on. We were just approaching a breakthrough into healthy communication.”

  
Gwen looked to Merlin. Merlin glanced at Morgana. Morgana arched her brow. Merlin sighed, shrugged and rubbed a knuckle lightly over his bruised cheek. His attention dropped back down to his folder, but he didn't open it. Morgana paced back to her chair. She sat and gave her full attention to Gwen.

  
“We met Mithian Montgomery,” Gwen began.

  
Christ. Mithian. Darling of stage and screen. It made Morgana want to puke sometimes, because the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Somehow, Morgana doubted the girl she knew as a child had changed much. The girl who had figured out that being sycophantically adorable got her most everything she wanted. And, on the rare occasions saccharine appeal failed, a huge temper tantrum generally took care of anything else. As Mithian got older there were fewer public tantrums, but Morgana didn't think they were gone. Mithian still got everything she ever wanted, in addition to being the public's precious pretty princess.

  
Morgana had hated her. Hated her and her syrupy I-actually-shit-strawberry-scented-marshmallows-tee-hee! disposition, her pastel debutante style and the genteel manners Uther wanted her to emulate so badly. Hated the way Mithian would just patiently say 'if you'd only just _behave_ , Anna'. Because they'd known each other for so long, Morgana could hear the way she covered up her condescension with a patina of concern and sisterhood. Mithian didn't really want Morgana to behave or take her advice. So long as Morgana was black as soot, Mithian, by comparison, looked paler than snow.

  
It could be that Morgana was bitter, of course.

  
“What the hell was she doing here?” Morgana asked.

  
“Slapping Merlin,” Freya said soberly.

  
“She didn't.” Morgana's eyes darted to the fading bruise on Merlin's cheek. She felt a swell of outrage. _That's_ where Merlin had gotten it?

  
“Yes,” Gwen said regretfully.

  
“The cunt,” Morgana muttered, then said to Gwen, “How did this happen?”

  
Suddenly Merlin came to his feet. For a moment he stood, the look on his face was one Morgana knew very well. It was the anxious discomfort of someone under audience scrutiny who had no wish to be. Merlin took a handful of folded towels from Gwen.

  
“I'll just put these away,” he said quickly and Morgana had to give him points for the unhurried mosey that took him to the kitchen, away from the spotlight.

  
Gwen watched him go sadly. When he had gone, she spoke in a lowered voice. “We didn't recognize her, at first. It was two days after, and it was just Merlin and me, getting ready for dinner. The doorbell rang and I answered. She was in sunglasses and a scarf, the way actors do when they play actors in movies. She asked for Merlin, and I called him over, and she said, 'Are you Merlin Emrys?' He said yes, and she just hit him! Right across the face. And very hard; he was knocked into the door.”

  
“Bitch,” Morgana said, not bothering to lower her voice. While she felt a dark storm of dislike for Mithian, she couldn't help a gust of relief that it had been Mithian to bruise Merlin. Not Arthur. Arthur hadn't beaten him. Sure, Merlin had said it hadn't been Arthur, but the possibility of it had been quietly churning in her belly. Knowing it had been Mithian was a load off Morgana's mind.

  
Freya set her sketchbook aside and rose, padding after Merlin. They watched her go before Gwen resumed the story.

  
“She took off her sunglasses and then I recognized her. She started yelling at him. Really tearing into him. About how could he hurt Arthur like this, and how dare he, who was he anyway, and didn't he know an omega's place was to love zer alpha. How he was cruel and selfish, and unworthy. Clearly Arthur had told her everything.”

  
“You both just took it?” Morgana asked.

  
“No! Well, maybe at first. We were just in shock. I couldn't believe it was happening, and I don't think Merlin could either, so we just gaped at her like a couple of fools while she was ranting. It's not every day a big star comes to your house to scream at you. Then she called Merlin a selfish slut who was ashamed of his gender, which was fitting because she was ashamed to be the same gender as him – and the spell broke. I told her to go, but she wouldn't. She just kept shouting at Merlin, things like, if this was how he treated his truemate, he should consider himself lucky to have a truemate at all, since he certainly didn't deserve one, all while I was trying to edge her out the door. She wouldn't go.”

  
“How did you get rid of her?”

  
Gwen related it apologetically. “I tried reasoning. I did! She wouldn't listen, so I ended up – I had the Pam in my hand already, for the roasting pan, and I and kind of maced her with cooking spray.”

  
Morgana couldn't help a bark of laughter. “You oiled her face?”

  
“She was being awful to Merlin!” Gwen defended, but was clearly also trying not to find it funny. “It was the first thing I could think of that wouldn't leave a bruise.”

  
Morgana held up her hands. “No condemnation here. Actually, I'd have paid serious money to see it. Mithian has always been a big attention whore.” Gwen clearly didn't know how exactly to follow that up, and perhaps Morgana's tone had gone darker than she'd thought. She cleared her throat. “What happened then?”

  
“Then I had to push her outside and slam the door in her face. She was shrieking by then, and she was all shiny. She sort of skulked around and hammered on the door until I said I was going to call the police. Thankfully she didn't call my bluff and she went.”

  
“You should have called the police,” Morgana said. She knew it was petty, but the idea of Mithian being slapped with an assault charge pleased her enormously. “Or recorded it,” Morgana added, grinning to herself. She loved the idea of Mithian starring in an oily viral video of shrill insanity.

  
“I know. From a purely reasonable perspective, a rational person should report it to the police. But, I knew if Mithian Montgomery got escorted off the property by the police, or even if we just filed a report on her, the next day TMZ would be camping outside waiting to get a scoop on Pack Pendragon and why Mithian would slap some professor. Lots of nosy questions would be asked, and photos and invasions of privacy and I don't think anyone wants that kind of publicity.”

  
No. Realistically, Morgana knew that. As delicious as it would feel to get comeuppance, it might make more problems than it would solve. And Merlin would hate it. And, these things being what they were, someone unaccustomed to being under the scrutiny of the press would get filmed in an unguarded moment adjusting a wedgie or picking their nose and then that picture would float around forever. It was a toss up, whether they would find ill-timed photographs more invasive, or the inevitable speculation and gossip that would come from being associated with a pack of wealth and media presence. People loved to talk about Pack Pendragon, make wild leaps out of trickles of information. Gwen was going to have to deal with it more directly, but it was better to ease her into it than hurl her into the deep end of scandal-mongers.

  
Come to think of it though, she'd seen a hell of a lot more press with Mithian and Arthur alone together in the last year than in the dozen or so before that. Call her paranoid, but Morgana wasn't sure sympathetic outrage for someone else was worth an hour's drive and a screaming match. The fact that Mithian had whacked Merlin one made it all seem rather personal, rather than some righteous crusade.

  
Morgana picked up the cookie she'd had no intention of eating. She needed it, now.

  
“What did Merlin do?” Morgana asked around a mouthful.

  
“He was so shocked. He just stood there, holding his face while she screamed at him.”

  
“He didn't defend himself?” Morgana finished the cookie and took another.

  
“She really wasn't in a listening mood,” Gwen said.

  
“No. She was just having one of her fits.” Apparently Mithian hadn't been completely weaned from throwing herself on the ground and screaming her displeasure like a three year old down the cereal aisle.

  
“She was just reacting to the pain of a friend and of her alpha. From her perspective, she thought I deserved it.” Merlin appeared in the doorway, Freya on his heels. He looked a little more put together, and his words had a forced steadiness that was all I'm a Mental Health Professional, Ask Me How!

  
“No one ever deserves to be assaulted,” Morgana said, disgusted. She didn't give a fat rat's ass what Mithian thought. She had no right to be bashing people because she didn't like the way they behaved. She was so going to kick Mithian's tits in, the next time she laid eyes on the bitch.

  
“No,” Merlin agreed. “But, I understand why she did it, and there's no reason to make a big fuss about it. I'd prefer we didn't discuss it any more.”

  
“Merlin, Morgana is right, in a way. Your mantra has been not making a fuss. I don't know a better time to fuss,” Gwen said, and Morgana realized she'd been refolding the same towel over and over, picking at the corners. Gwen might be trying to adhere to what Merlin wanted, but she was worried.

  
“Also, your resignation makes me nauseated,” Morgana added, pointing at him with a cookie.

  
Freya sat on the couch and took the towel from Gwen.

  
“Gwen said it; any involvement by outside parties will bring a lot of scrutiny and no one wants that,” Merlin said. He made his way back over to his chair and sat. He picked up his coffee. “Anyway. What cause do I have to be unhappy? I got what I wanted, didn't I?”

  
“ _Eau de Arthur_?” Morgana said dryly. She doubted that would have been anywhere on Merlin's list. Hell, even if he had wanted it on a personal level, Morgana couldn't see him allowing a scentmarking on the basis of the sheer number of outside questions and complications it would cause.

  
Merlin was staring at the surface of the coffee, his hands wrapped tightly around the cup. Morgana wondered if he was staring at his own reflection in the liquid. “No, I mean... he knows now. About me. And he knows that I didn't want the same things. So, we're both free to go about our lives as we choose without being beholden to anyone. Without expectations.”

  
No one seemed to have anything to say to that. It didn't sound like much of a triumph.

  
“You mean, without either of you expecting your truemate to love and accept you?”

  
Merlin swallowed. His eyes darted up to hers from where he'd been staring into his cup in some strange notion that if he didn't make eye contact the subject would be closed. But when he looked at her, there it was. A teeny little crack in the fjord blue of his eyes.

  
“You know about that?” he asked tentatively.

  
“It doesn't exactly take Sherlock Holmes to take two and two and get four. Doesn't everyone know?” Morgana arched a brow.

  
Merlin's eyes darted over to Freya. So did Gwen's.

  
Freya paused blowing on her hot coffee when they both focused in on her. She shrugged. “Morgana's right. You look at Arthur like you want to cover him with frosting and sprinkles, then lick it all off.”

  
“Thank you for that visual of my brother.” It was now stuck in her head and was slightly disturbing. Mostly because she couldn't see Arthur being terribly excited picking rainbow nonpareils out of his sticky pubic hair.

  
“Red frosting,” Freya supplied.

  
“Red food coloring has that terrible taste, what about blue?” Gwen said.

  
“People, there is no frosting.” Now they were off track. Morgana was damned if they were going to derail this conversation with inanities.

  
Merlin was flushed, and looked like he wanted to melt into the chair. “You knew?”

  
Freya smiled apologetically and nodded.

  
Merlin rubbed his face. “Shit.”

  
“I'm sure not everyone knows,” Gwen said, shooting Morgana a look that was a desperate entreaty for her support.

  
Morgana allowed that with a little tilt of the head. “There are probably some people somewhere who can't recognize the 'Want to lick frosting off your cock' look. The Isle of Sappho, maybe?”

  
Merlin did not wail, but Morgana flattered herself that it looked like a near thing.

  
She got out her battering ram. “More importantly, Merlin, it doesn't matter who my brother is to you. It doesn't matter if you're truemates, or just attracted to each other, it doesn't matter if you have 'Property of Arthur Pendragon' tattooed on your ass. He had no right to do this to you.”

  
“I know he didn't. I know,” Merlin said, and there was the flare of stubbornness again, but it burned alongside something sad.

  
“Then do yourself a favor. Get mad about it. Don't carry it around like your secret shameful burden. We need to talk about this. Not just you. But me, and Gwen and Freya.”

  
This time she let Merlin sit in the quiet and argue with himself. Morgana simply held her coffee cup and looked at the three of them. Merlin weighed the pros and cons, Freya watched with a quiet sympathy, and Gwen pressed her fingers over her mouth, worried.

  
Morgana supposed it had been too much to hope for that the discovery of being truemates ended in some kinky sex marathon. That was supposed to be the whole deal with truemates, wasn't it? That they could hardly keep their hands off each other in between all the times they were writing epically saccharine poetry to each other?

  
While blame felt like an awkward word in the circumstance, Morgana still felt the lion's share of it belonged on her brother's shoulders. Anyone with eyes and a quarter of a working brain should have been able to tell that Merlin was practically panting for a good roll in the hay. Hell, Morgana had known the moment she walked into Aglain's office and beheld him. He was a well fortified, sex-starved fort on high alert.

  
Her brother had to have fucked up royally if they didn't end up going at it like rabbits. Then again, Morgana doubted her brother had been smart about any of it. If Arthur had bothered with an ounce of undercover work, if he'd made it an inside job on that Merlinfort instead of just firing the cannons in a full-on assault, Morgana was sure Merlin would have surrendered with no shots fired.

  
As it was, Merlin was still standing, battered, smoking, but not conquered and even more certain he needed to defend himself from every angle. Quite the feat, really. Fuck, her brother was an idiot.

  
At long last, Merlin swallowed. He shut his eyes. “Okay.”

  
Gwen and Freya let out breaths they must have been holding.

  
“Well,” Morgana held out her cup to Gwen for a refill. “I think now is as good a time as ever, don't you? Start at the beginning, don't stint the details. Gwen. We need a fresh pot of coffee with a shot of rum and cookies. Lots more cookies,” Morgana said.

  
“Um?” Merlin said.

  
Gwen rose and hurriedly grabbed the press and the cookie plate. “Don't start until I get back!” She rushed out.

  
Merlin looked pained, but Morgana ignored it. “As established, this is a 'we' mess, and not a 'you' mess. We can't deal with this if we don't know all the circumstances. Nor can we decide how to handle future entanglements. So. Give me the 'Previously, on Merlin Emrys's life'.”

  
Freya set her sketchbook aside and propped her chin on her knuckles. Merlin glanced at her. His face crumpled a bit, like he wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but couldn't quite manage it.

  
“I don't even know how to do this,” he appealed.

  
“I'll start it for you. One day Merlin Emrys went to Spring Run with his bestest friends, Gwen and Freya. While at Spring Run he met a handsome blond doofus named Arthur Pendragon who happened to be his truemate,” Morgana said, then she settled her stare on Merlin.

  
Merlin closed his eyes and sighed. Then he started to talk.

 

 

ᴥ

 

 

Doormen were weak for celebrities. All it took was a low cut dress, a little flattery, and a willingness to take several selfies, and you could go wherever you wanted.

  
Albert, the doorman for Arthur's building, was no different. Two selfies and a phone call to his daughter was all it took, and she was riding the elevator right up to Arthur's floor. There were only two apartments on each floor, and Arthur had the larger of the two models. The doorman was also quite helpful with intel; Arthur was still at home, since he'd not been seen leaving the building at his customary time and that was so out of character the doorman made note of it. His car was also still in the garage. Morgana had already suspected he was hiding out at home, seeing as he wasn't available at work. Still, it was nice to have it confirmed.  
When she arrived at his front door, Morgana rapped loudly.

  
Maybe she should feel pleased her brother was in such an emotional slump he couldn't go to work. At least it proved the entire mess had impacted him. That it mattered.

  
She knocked again.

  
If he'd been able to brush it off, that would have been worrying. If he was too inundated with feelings to pack his emotions under a bland work facade, despite the royal bitchfit Uther was probably throwing over his absence, there might be hope.

  
Another, harder knock.

  
Hope of what, she couldn't totally say.

  
She carried on knocking, without ceasing.

  
After all, did she _want_ Merlin saddled with her brother? Maybe Merlin deserved better. Someone with actual abs off of which to lick the aforementioned frosting and sprinkles.

  
And maybe Arthur deserved some Stepford idiot he'd spent his life idealizing. Maybe this mess would keep them from making each other miserable and it was all a blessing in a horrific disguise. Maybe. Morgana didn't think blessings should scar.

  
The shit wasn't answering the door. Fine. Morgana pressed the doorbell button and left her finger there. She could just hear the doorbell resounding non-stop inside. She had all night to do this. There was no way he was going to be able to ignore it.

  
The door was finally jerked open. Arthur was ill-kept in wrinkled pajamas with what Morgana was afraid might be the dust from some cheetos wiped across his t-shirt in finger-sized smears. His hair stuck every which way and looked greasy at the temples. The bags under his eyes spoke of weariness. He also appeared to be deeply annoyed.

  
“How did you get up here?” he demanded, peering around the empty hallway. Clearly he didn't know much of the fine art of finagling doormen.

  
“Glad you could get your ass up.” Morgana barged into the apartment. She doubted she was going to be getting a proper invitation. His surprise made him easy to brush past and Morgana caught a strong gust of scent from him. In accordance with his unkempt look, it seemed he hadn't showered in several days. He did smell of cheetos, and sweat, salt, chocolate and unclean alpha funk.

  
She dropped her purse on the table in the foyer without breaking stride for his living room. She'd never been to his apartment before, but the hallway opened into a wide living space with an expansive view of the city.

Or, what would have been an expansive view, if only the blinds weren't drawn. The gloomy shadow of the room was made twitchy by the flickering of the muted television mounted on the wall.

  
Not that the room was much worth looking at. What was evidently a professional decorating job on the sterile side of Swedish Modern Masculine was covered in a sediment of litter. Clearly, Arthur had given the maid the week off, and had also been too depressed to clean up the mess of empty bags, torn wrappers and take-out boxes. The couch, with its dented pillows and crumpled throw, was a veritable epicenter of some kind of junk food storm. It it made the room look as if it were home to some self-loathing gluttonous rat making a nest. A gaming rat. She spied controllers loose among the refuse.

  
Morgana crossed her arms as she surveyed the mess, well aware of Arthur approaching behind her. When he hesitated at her back, Morgana spoke up. “Ben and Jerry's, Arthur? You know what it does to your ass.” She headed down the step from granite to the taupe carpet.

  
Arthur didn't say anything, but he did shuffle forward to pick up ice cream cartons, pizza boxes and take-out containers in a sloppy effort to clear the worst of it.

  
This was not so good. He didn't raise to the bait. While there was a cornucopia of family photographic evidence proving Arthur had gone through some unfortunate pre-pubescent years with a large quantity of pudge, he usually adamantly denied it. He'd slimmed down on assorted sport fields as a pubescent jock in time to be camera ready for his eighteenth birthday and the press, and for his sister to catch up with his life, via magazines. A lot of those early shoots had a soft-core sensibility about them, what with the barely legal Arthur barely dressed.

  
The last year Morgana had lived with the Pendragons, Arthur's former weight had been among her favorite weapons. Threatening to get one of the dreaded Thanksgiving photos for ages 9-12 had always been a surefire way to make Arthur a little crazy. He tried to pretend his bleak butterball period never existed when he entered high school and started winning fencing competitions.

  
The fact that he let the dart hit and didn't bother denying it was troubling.

  
While he made a feeble attempt at tidying, Morgana circled the furniture, trying to decide on which to sit and also to quiet the storm she could feel brewing inside her. The drive from Gwen's had helped her calm some, and this squishy Arthur tempered her instinct to beat the shit out of him, but neither quelled her ire completely. Her brother might look on the pathetic side, but she wasn't mustering any sympathy for him. What right did he have, exactly, to be wallowing?

  
Not that it was a surprise.

  
She inhaled deeply, wading through the scents. “Well. I see I'm interrupting a Mithian-fueled pity party.”  
“That's not what it is,” Arthur said grumpily, wadding a handful of fun-sized candy wrappers into an empty potato chip bag.

  
“No? I can smell her all over this room.” Yes. Mithian was all over, under the junk food. Clearly, she'd been devoting a lot of time to Arthur, and not just today. The smell on one of the chairs was stale, whereas the couch was recent. It didn't improve Morgana's humor.

  
“Yes. She's pack. She came to help. That's what pack does. Helps. Cares.” Arthur carried his armful of rubbish into the kitchen.

  
Morgana followed to linger by the door. “Then where is the rest of the pack, hm? Why don't I smell them helping and caring?”

  
“Leon and Percy don't get updates on every turn in my life,” Arthur said flatly. He was trying to wad the trash into the built-in canisters in the garbage drawer of his stupidly fancy kitchen. It was already too full of waste, what with no one having taken the trash out, but Arthur was valiantly trying to jimmy more in. Probably he was willing to do anything as long as he didn't have to look at her.

  
“Meaning, you were too chickenshit to tell them. Just Mithian. You knew she'd be sympathetic,” Morgana translated.

  
“If you've come to bust my balls, Morgana, you can just leave.” His tone was sharper now.

  
“Your balls are owed a busting, brother dear, and deep down you know it.”

  
Arthur shot her an angry look. “I don't suppose I'm owed any compassion or comfort in your version of things, am I?”

  
Morgana didn't let up. “If it's comfort you're after, why don't I smell Lance, hm? He's the just, fair-minded one, isn't he? Why isn't he here to tend your alpha-pain?”

  
“He's busy. He has a case.” Arthur was having trouble getting the trash receptacle to slide back into the slot, since it was so full.

  
“And he can't spare five minutes to visit his disconsolate alpha?”

  
“I'm not disconsolate,” said her brother.

  
“Do you prefer forlorn?” Morgana suggested. “Either way, I can't see something as mundane as a case keeping Lance from his alpha's side. Isn't that why one joins a pack, so you have the fun of jockeying around with others to win the knot-sucking privileges?”

  
“I don't suppose it's escaped your notice, Morgana, but Lance is engaged to Gwen. I haven't heard from him all week,” Arthur said. Now he was balancing himself on the counter so he could stomp down on the trash some more. It would have been funny if it hadn't been equally as sad.

  
Morgana opened her hands expectantly. “And?”

  
“And, who knows what he's heard from Gwen.”

  
Morgana stared at him. “Are you seriously implying Lance broke the all-holy ' _Leader before Breeder_ ' rule?”  
Arthur was still stomping away, unhindered by either Morgana's disbelief or the fact that the garbage bin was already over capacity and no amount of compacting was going to make a difference. “I'm saying he's only gotten the story from Gwen, he hasn't even bothered to ask me for my version of what happened. He probably thinks I've grown horns and a spade tail and eat babies.”

  
Morgana did not dignify that with a response. Just watched him try and close the drawer again.

  
Arthur continued. “I've known him for almost twenty years, but Mithian was right; the first sign of getting his dick wet on a permanent basis, he becomes completely breeder-whipped.”

  
“Are you really so far gone you believe that of Lance? _Lance?_ ” Morgana asked. Granted, she'd only known him a few years when he was in high school, but her impression of adult Lance was not terribly different from the one she'd held as a child; he was revoltingly kind and distressingly virtuous.

  
“You explain why I haven't heard from him, then. I'm sure they're filling his head with all kinds of crap, and Lance is such a soft touch he'll buy any sob story.” Arthur tried to slam the drawer shut again, but it still didn't go.

  
“I don't suppose it's occurred to you that you could call him, instead of turning it into some kind of bizarre contest?” Morgana said.

  
Arthur gave the drawer another try. “It's not the same. He should call me!”

  
“Are you sure Lance isn't waiting for you to contact him, respecting your boundaries?” God forbid she bring logic into the conversation. Actually, a part of Morgana was thinking she should have brought a flask. Alcohol might not make her comebacks as sharp, but if this was a barometer of the stupidity she was going to have to endure, it might not be a bad idea. Being drunk might hamper her aim, so if she actually tried to bludgeon Arthur with something – say, as a completely random example not at all inspired by a previous scan of the room for suitable weapons, the knife block – she would miss.

  
He released the garbage drawer and stalked away with a frustrated huff. “Well, _clearly_ you know better than me what Lance is thinking. I don't know what I was thinking, using our long, intimate friendship as an indicator.”

  
Morgana resisted rolling her eyes. Barely. “I could hazard a guess what you are using to think with that's made you fling shit at Lance.”

  
Arthur threw his hands up in a wide, messy gesture. “Yes, he's the most perfect human being to walk the earth, Lance is. Except for his pack disloyalty, and his foregoing our friendship. He probably wants to start a new pack with them, set himself up as a beta Grand Master on High. Well, he can go right ahead. I know everyone thinks I'm some kind of monster, but I'm not going to order Lance to listen to me or break up with Gwen. If he doesn't want to hear my end of things, I won't make him stay. That's not the kind of pack I want to have.”

  
“No. You want the kind that treats omegas as property,” Morgana said with icy cold against his fuming.

  
Arthur's jaw worked. The silence hung heavily for the few moments before Arthur turned sharply and stalked out of the kitchen. Morgana followed after a respectable distance. She watched him shuffle to the couch. He sat, and rubbed a hand through his hair.

  
She selected the designer leather armchair directly across from Arthur which smelled the least like Mithian. She sat, her hands resting on the arms. She watched him a moment, the way agitation mixed with temper, and yet also coursed with something sorrowful underneath.

  
“You fucked up,” she said plainly after a few minutes passed.

  
Arthur's head jerked. “You don't know. God only knows what you've been told.”

  
“Being a semi-intelligent human being, with a fully working nose and knowledge of the participants, I could put most of it together on my own, thanks. But I have heard what Merlin remembers, though he was very reluctant to talk about it. It's hardly a comprehensive recollection, but then, he was subdued. Twice.”

  
“I'm _sure_ he was very reluctant,” Arthur groused.

  
“Don't annoy me, Arthur,” Morgana said, the warning light and final.

  
Arthur slouched back into the couch and stared at his knees.

  
It looked like a cue to continue to Morgana. “You went down there for some dinner date with Olaf. Uther's idea, I'd bet. Does he still want you to marry that idiot daughter of his? No, never mind. I don't want to get off track. You were in a perfectly pleasant mood when you met up with Merlin earlier on campus, and then something happened at that dinner. That something brought you to Merlin's house in a fit of rage. Rage because, what, he was an omega? Big deal. If you'd used your brain and not your nose you'd have known that already.

  
“You thundered into his flat and sniffed him, demanded things of him and pinned him against the wall so he couldn't escape your natural rights to his person. When Merlin did manage to get away from your cornering him, scared out of his wits, you chased him. No, not only chased him. No. You bit him, too. You bit him, then you decided to check for yourself. After all, he had information you deserved, didn't he? If he hadn't been keeping it secret, you wouldn't have needed to force it out of him.”

  
Arthur looked pale. He almost seemed ready to interrupt a few times, but each time he stilled himself. Then again, Morgana was sure that his description of events had been done with far more benign language choices. Her version of events was likely to be a jolt for a man committed to seeing things from one perspective and one perspective only.

  
“So, dear Merlin again tries to get away, because he just doesn't know how to cooperate, does he? And if he had cooperated it would all have all been over that much quicker. So you bit him again. Drugged into compliance, just the way alphas like them. Could he even say no to you anymore? Hell, could he say yes? Either way, it didn't stop you from taking him into the bathroom, stripping him and washing him, did it? In fact, it didn't stop you from trading up from plain old assault to molestation! But he deserved to be held down so you could smell him, didn't he? He needed to learn that your wants were more important than his basic rights. And somehow, it ended with you hosing him down like a dog peeing on a tree. You called Freya and ran away like a coward, leaving Merlin sobbing and violated.”

  
That appeared to be the last straw and Arthur sputtered forward. “I didn't viola-”

  
“Oh, you want to be very, very careful, Arthur,” Morgana warned with a deadliness she'd never had occasion to use on Arthur before. He didn't know one thing about violation, and she was in no mood to hear whatever nonsense he dredged up.

  
“I didn't molest him. We were … it was consensual, that part,” Arthur said, jaw determined.

  
“Funny, Merlin didn't mention you waiting an hour for the effects of the doloustonin to wear off. Must have slipped his mind,” Morgana said, fully aware that no such delay had occurred, as Arthur's expression confirmed not a moment later. Morgana shook her head. “He was in no position to protest or consent to anything.”

  
Merlin, too, had said he was willing, but Morgana could read between the lines. He'd been thoroughly addled on subduing hormones; who was to say where any of his wants had come from in those moments? Were his wants his own, or were they influenced by the angry truemate alpha cooking his brain on signals? Oh, sure, Merlin had wanted to tumble into bed with Arthur beforehand, but having been subdued herself, Morgana knew first-hand how it messed with your mind. She had thought and said and done things that later horrified her. The most memorable occasion was an argument over cigarettes that reached a fever pitch, and Uther wouldn't let her leave his study until she'd capitulated. She wouldn't be cowed, and it ended with him subjugating her, a bigger dose than the others. She remembered sobbing and agreeing with almost everything he said, disavowing all her previous thoughts while curled on the carpet at his feet.

  
At first, the foggy memory of it had shamed her. Later, she realized the shame shouldn't be hers. That was a particularly bad instance. Her brushes with subduing certainly had different textures, but that one stuck out, because on that occasion some cocktail of elements had completely swayed her thoughts. Not that Morgana disbelieved Merlin's assertions per se, but he was an unreliable narrator.

  
Arthur shifted uncomfortably. “You don't understand,” he said after a moment.

  
“Oh, don't I?” Morgana raised a brow.

  
“He lied. He's been lying,” Arthur said sharply.

  
“We all lie, Arthur. Life is lies.”

  
“Not about this.”

  
“Yes, about this. We live in a world where we need to lie about something we shouldn't ever need to lie about.” Was he honestly _that_ ignorant about the way the world worked?

  
Arthur shook his head. “Not him, anyone but him.”

  
“Why not?” Morgana shot back. “Isn't he entitled to the same expectations as the rest of the population?”

  
The muscle in Arthur's jaw jerked, but he kept his mouth firmly shut. They stared at each other, Morgana hoping that the stretching seconds would break her brother. They didn't.

  
That was fine. She hadn't even begun to use the tools at her disposal.

  
She gave a little toss of both hands, discarding the previous question. “Fine. So look me in the eye and tell me it's okay to mark people against their will. Tell me that as long as there's provocation, you have that right. Tell me that what _you_ want is more important than what _they_ want.”

  
She saw him flinch as she asked it. Just gently, but a flinch none the less.

  
“Arthur,” she prompted when he didn't answer after a few moments.

  
He shut his eyes. “No.” He opened then, gaze hot for the first time. “I never said he deserved it, not the way you made it sound. Do you think I don't know it was wrong?”

  
“I think you've lost your mind. There are a lot of things I wouldn't put past you, Arthur, but this?”

  
“You don't understand,” Arthur said. The flickering of the television lent a macabre level to his mournful expression.

  
“Yes. You keep saying that and it's getting boring. Explain it, then.” Morgana thrust to her feet and grabbed the remote from amongst the litter on the coffee table. She snapped the television off and tossed the remote down again. It clattered loudly in the quiet apartment.

  
“Well?” she said, hands on hips.

  
Arthur's brow furrowed angrily and he stood. “Tell you that they've been making a fool of me? That you've been in on it? You seem to know the whole story, what difference will anything I have to say make? You came here with your mind made up, just as Mithian said you would!”

  
“Mithian,” Morgana said, disgusted.

  
“She was right. About it, about Lance and about you. You just don't want to admit she has a point because you never grew out of that sad teenage snit because people liked her and thought you were weird! You were so jealous you couldn't see straight, and you still are.”

  
“Last I checked, Arthur, I'm an internationally known model, former face of Prada, and an industry fixture. Mithian is one romantic comedy that tanked and half a chapter on the history of American stage sweethearts who warbled 'I Dreamed a Dream' with tears in their eyes. I have nothing to be jealous of,” Morgana said, resisting another eye-roll because she suspected it would be so severe she might strain something. She almost added her confidential news about her fall television debut, but it would only serve to distract. She wasn't jealous of Mithian. She just hated her. Big difference. Then she added, “So, Sainted Mithian? Full of shit.”

  
“I never said she was sainted,” Arthur said.

  
“Why not? Apparently whatever comes out of her mouth is gospel.” The big windows didn't seem to open to get a breath of fresh air, and Morgana was tired of breathing Mithian and chips. She stalked to the intercom she'd spotted on her way in and hit the button. Arthur opened his mouth to say something but Morgana held up a finger at the same time there was a rattle, and the doorman pickled up. “Albert, darling? It's Morgana le Fey. Look, I'm with Mr. Pendragon, could you do us an enormous favor? Mr. Pendragon needs Febreze _desperately_. A few scent-canceling and some for fabric. Could you be a love and make some appear? I know it's not a part of your job, but I have a crisp hundred with your name on it if you get it here in ten minutes.”

  
Arthur was thankfully quiet while she dealt with Albert, though he looked rather displeased with her request.

As soon as she hung up he spoke. “Why the hell do you have a hundred dollar bill?”

  
“In case I needed to bribe my way up.” Morgana almost added a 'duh' to it. “Now, where were we?”

  
“Mithian was just–”

  
“Arthur, I don't actually care about Mithian. Fuck Mithian. Fuck Mithian with a rusty speculum. Do you know she drove to Gwen's to verbally and physically assault Merlin on your whining behalf?”

  
At least Arthur looked surprised. “What?”

  
“Yes. She slapped him and called him, among other things, a selfish ungrateful slut.”

  
Morgana was aware of her own shortcomings as a person, and thus felt no guilt in the pleasure she took from the sight of Arthur's face as he went pale. He sank back down to sit on the couch again.

  
“I didn't know. God, Merlin. Believe me, Morgana, I never meant for her to do that.”

  
Morgana arched a brow.

  
“I didn't!” Arthur said, then pressed his mouth into a thin line before asking. “Is Merlin okay?” It was tentative, and Arthur being Arthur, that was real concern swamping his features.

  
“You mean is he pressing charges against either you or the Arthur Avenger?”

  
“No! Did Mithian hurt him? Is he all right?” Yes, real concern. It still didn't make Morgana feel particularly merciful, though.

  
“What do you think, Arthur? He left his old apartment because he felt the space was violated. Then you go to his new home and physically assault, emotionally terrorize and sexually meddle with him. Then your best girl drops by for a second dose of assault, and, as an added bonus, a special round of victim blaming,” Morgana snapped, the sarcasm a rich and beautiful flavor on her tongue.

  
Arthur stared at her. Morgana could almost see the fat blond hamster laboring at its wheel to get one full revolution.

  
There came a long stretch of minutes before he said thinly, “Maybe Mithian isn't right about everything. And she should never have gone there. I didn't tell her to do that. But she gives a damn about how this impacts me. She appears to be the only one who does. Maybe she made a mistake, and she knows I made a mistake, I know I made a mistake. Isn't losing everything I ever dreamed of punishment enough?”

  
“Personally I'd like to see you eaten with guilt and not self pity,” Morgana said, crossing her arms.

  
“You don't think I feel guilty?” Arthur's brows furrowed.

  
“Not nearly enough,” said Morgana.

  
“I was there. I was the one who held him down, who – believe me, I regret it. Enormously,” Arthur said, biting off the statement when it veered toward memories he clearly did not want to dredge up.

  
Morgana headed back towards the circle of furniture, gesturing to the apartment as she went. “Then why the hell are you here sulking? Why haven't you bothered to apologize? It wouldn't be much, but it would be something to make amends. I'm tired of hearing the words 'I' and 'Me' out of your mouth and how this impacts you. What about _Merlin_?”

  
“He wants nothing to do with me. He never even wanted me. I'm not about to poke my nose where I'm not wanted. The thing he wants most is for me to stay away, so that's what I'm doing.” Was it her imagination, or did Arthur's shoulders slump?

  
Not that it invoked any mercy, either. She said, “Was that really what he wanted, Arthur? Or is that your hurt pride talking?”

  
Arthur's head jerked up. “How the hell would you know?”

  
“About what Merlin thinks? Oh, well, there was this thing I tried, it's called 'asking', often followed by this foreign concept called 'listening',” Morgana said sarcastically.

  
Arthur came to his feet and bared his teeth, but the grimace was more pained than threatening, his fangs barely elongating.

  
Morgana got in his face. The height of her heels and he in his bare feet put them eye to eye. “Tell me what happened,” she ordered, careful not to show her teeth, to keep her tone as firm and calm as possible.

  
“Like you don't know,” Arthur snarled.

  
“This is the asking part, Arthur. I know what Merlin remembers. But he was doped to hell. For all I know, you were taking some petty revenge because you found out the beta boy giving you a boner was really an omega and you were mad about fake queer feelings in your pants.” She knew how Arthur smelled to Merlin. Now she needed to know for a fact that Arthur smelled the same. There was no need for Arthur to know exactly how far back Merlin had related their tale.

  
“What? No!” Arthur drew back, startled by that potential interpretation.

  
“You'd hardly be the first alpha to attack someone in a storm of homophobic panic.” She wasn't ready to put down her trusty sledgehammer just yet. She could see the cracks appearing in her brother.

  
“Dammit, that's not why I – ”

  
“Oh, so it was because he wouldn't sleep with you?”

  
“No! What?”

  
“Then why?”

  
“Because he's _mine_ ,” Arthur snapped, but as he spoke the words they softened and his canines retracted fully. He stepped back. “He's mine. Mine,” he said again, as if accustoming himself to saying the words out loud. Then he slithered down to sit on the couch again and brace his head in his hands.

  
“Yours,” Morgana echoed.

  
“Mine. The one for me. The smell I've been looking for. My destined spouse, my omega,  
my truemate!” Arthur spat the words more than said them, and then added in a softer tone. “And I was his. And he knew. He knew and he hid.” He leaned forward until he was doubled over, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

  
Morgana couldn't help the dry, humorless laugh that tumbled from her mouth. “Yours? I have news for you, Arthur, he's never been less yours. You had a better chance when he was dating Daegal! At least then he still wanted to fuck you.” She strode over to the big windows and sought the controls for the blinds. She hadn't been here long and she was sick of this dark, smelly hole.

  
Truemates, then. Confirmed from both angles. Somehow, that made it sadder.

  
“Poor Merlin,” she murmured as she drew the blinds open.

  
Arthur's head popped up over the back of the couch to stare accusingly at her. “Poor **_Merlin_**!? Didn't you hear me? He knew who he was to me, he's known from the start! I've been telling him all kinds of private things, and he's been laughing at me behind my back! He and all his little friends. They all kept it from me! Even when he knew how hard I was looking, how I was putting everything on hold to find my truemate, he didn't say a damn thing! He was there, snickering behind my back and lecturing me on all this equal rights nonsense–”

  
“If that's what you think it was, it's no wonder Merlin hid from you,” Morgana said matter-of-factly.

Afternoon sunlight saturated the room with an apricot-tinged glow.

  
Arthur hissed at the bright light like Nosferatu, but snapped back, “He lied! He's been manipulating me since we met!”

  
“Manipulating you how? By asking you questions about things Uther trained you not to notice?”

  
“Anna,” Arthur warned.

  
“No. No, in this, I won't pretend like what Uther did to us doesn't matter. We were his disciples. The only difference between us is that I didn't physically match up with his expectations. If I had? Well, I prefer not to think about it. But forcing you to consider other perspectives is not manipulation. It's enlightenment.” Morgana tossed the cord to the blinds back with a bit more force than she meant. “As much good as it did you.”

  
“Merlin could have enlightened me on a few equally important things. He chose not to. Not just then, but when I asked! I asked and he couldn't even tell me!”

  
“Because you charged in, all enraged alpha! _His_ alpha, you know what you had to smell like to him. I bet you demanded the truth from him, and I bet he didn't dare be truthful for fear of escalating the whole situation. Did you bother to make him feel safe, or did you just rampage around like some insane wildebeest?”  
“I chased him when he ran, not before!”

  
“Oh well, that makes all the difference. I'd give you a cookie, but I think your ass is fat enough already.”  
“I don't have a fat ass. That was low.”

  
“Sexual abusers don't have a high perch on which to proclaim that, Arthur.”

  
“I told you I didn't – ”

  
“Do you think being sexually violated just means having a penis put inside you? It means violation of a sexual nature, it means being forced to do something with your body you didn't want, or couldn't clearly consent to.”

  
“I knew it was wrong. I told you that,” Arthur said.

  
“Then why did you do it?”

  
“I was angry.”

  
“That's not an excuse.”

  
“I know. But it's true. I don't remember ever having been as angry. I still am. It was all so unfair. And don't tell me life isn't fair. There's a difference between that and being jerked around by people you think you can trust.”

  
“Think, before you answer,” Morgana strode back to her chair. “But is Merlin really the type of person to jerk someone around for his own amusement?” She sat and crossed her legs.

  
“He was... How else do you explain...”Arthur's words died as he saw Morgana's arched brow. He wrestled with it, and finally relented. “No. But he should have told me. He shouldn't have hidden it. I deserved to know he didn't want me.” Now Arthur sounded crumpled.

  
Morgana rolled her eyes in disgust. “Oh, stop being the tragic boy-prince.”

  
Arthur bristled. “What the hell, Morgana?”

  
Morgana said, “You're being a drama king, and I'm not going to listen to this weepy boo-hoo bullshit.”

  
“Anna, he's my truemate, and he's been hiding from me, using scentblockers. He knew who I was and he was just going to sit back and watch me scramble, like some experiment. Fuck someone else right under my nose. Let me brag about how I was going to get mated, how my life would be, all the while setting me up for heartbreak and disappointment.”

  
“He's your truemate, and he was scared to death of that repressive bullshit Uther preaches and you support. And then you proved every one of his fears valid, and acted like the entitled knot-head douchebag he was afraid you'd be. Congratulations, Arthur,” Morgana countered.

  
The words lashed at Arthur. Morgana saw them raise welts. She didn't care. This sulking was not at all what she'd expected from him, and it disappointed her.

  
“So you told him all about your omega. Was it the one in an apron, bringing you a martini after work who said nothing but 'oh yes, darling, you know best!'? I wonder why Merlin didn't think it was a good idea to audition for that part. He'd look so cute, vacuuming in pearls.”

  
“I didn't say that,” Arthur said sullenly.

  
“But something pretty near, wasn't it?”

  
Arthur worked his shoulders around in a semi-shrug.

  
“Wasn't it?” Morgana pressed.

  
“I may have said some things. He was always badgering me about it,” Arthur huffed. Then he looked constipated. Clearly the hamster was hard at work.

  
She gave him a few minutes, in deference to how out of shape the hamster was. Then, she said. “What would you do if you met your truemate, and ze didn't know who you were, and ze was a dick to you? Then ze went on how zer alpha was going to be sensitive and artistic and play guitar and cry at Celine Dion songs?”

  
“I'd tell zer anyway,” Arthur said, unimpressed. “It would be the right thing to do.”

  
Throttling him was a crime, Morgana reminded herself. “Yes. All right, you get all the points for being the most upstanding citizen in Doucheland. Can you at least understand why someone else might be a little less likely to be forthcoming?”

  
He gave her another of those noncommittal shrugs.

  
“Arthur!” Now she felt like a school teacher.

  
“I guess,” he said. Grudgingly.

  
“You guess. Well, why don't you take another guess; outside of him jerking you around, why might Merlin neglect to tell you the truth?”

  
The doorbell chimed. Morgana got back up. She left Arthur contemplating that on the couch and went to answer it. It was Albert, beaming with his bag of cleaning products. Morgana praised him so much he blushed, gave him the hundred and blew him a kiss. He floated off, and Morgana carried the bag inside.

  
“Well?” she asked upon returning from the foyer. “Any ideas?”

  
To his credit, Arthur did look like he was actually thinking about it. “He couldn't have been scared.”

  
“Why not?”

  
“I would never have hurt him!” Arthur protested.

  
“You bit him, Arthur,” she said, setting the bag on the coffee table. “Not just once. Twice. You did it because you didn't like his choices, so you decided to take away his capacity to make them. Then you punished him for the choices he'd already made.”

  
“I did it to get him to calm down; he was acting crazy!”

  
“Funny, how often when a stud calls a breeder crazy, what ze means is 'acting in a way I do not like.' So you arrived at Merlin's and he just went 'crazy'.” Morgana set a hand on her hip and looked at her brother. “Any ideas on why he was crazy, or is it just something he does in the evening to amuse himself?”

  
Arthur didn't answer again, but this time there was something scratching on the outside of his expression.  
“Were the crazy parts running away and not doing what you told him?” Morgana said.

  
Arthur swallowed and nodded.

  
“So, fear responses,” Morgana said.

  
“I wouldn't have hurt him. Biting him, I would have taken care of him, in that state. I _did_ take care of him!” He was reaching. Even Morgana could hear it.

  
“How was he to know that? What happened the last time he got bitten by an alpha?”

  
“I'm me, not some stranger. He should have known –”

  
“Oh, so your version of how this is all very reasonable involves Merlin being able to psychically tell what you'll do?”

  
“He could have trusted me,” Arthur said, and now it was sullen.

  
Morgana snorted. “You don't have a right to his trust, Arthur. Isn't that what you've been telling me? That you want to be the kind of alpha who earns things, is worthy of them?”

  
“I am trying to be someone who is worthy of trust.”

  
“And yet, Merlin didn't think he could trust you with the truth. And when you had it, what did you do?” Morgana asked.

  
Now Arthur looked pained. There was silence again, but this time Morgana didn't fill it. She pulled out the spray bottles and read the labels. Albert had gotten a nice mix. She picked out the Linen and Sky fabric refresher, and circumnavigated the apartment, spraying. It was a bit fake, but it was better than the other smells circling the dimming room.

  
“All I can think about is Korea,” Arthur said at length when Morgana had been all around the living room once and was starting on the furniture.

  
“Korea?” Morgana paused to look at him, puzzled. What the hell did Korea have to do with any of this?

  
Arthur spoke, staring at the carpet. “For Spring Run. Leon and I went three years ago. I'd been going to Montana and Europe, and there was no one. For as long as I can remember, I've always felt there was someone meant for me. I'd date, and have sex, and it was fun, but it wasn't _it_. I wasn't even tempted to bond with any of them. You're supposed to be, you know? But me? If I was going to mate, I shouldn't have reservations about zer. I always have had doubts, always known whoever I was with wasn't the one. I tried with omegas, betas, the ones father wanted, the ones I was attracted to, even femalphas. None made me want to bond with them. None gave me that _feeling_.”

  
Morgana perched on the edge of the couch beside him. “What feeling?”

  
“The one that Lance felt when he looked at Gwen for the first time. The one Father felt when he smelled Mother. They just knew. And I've always felt there had to be a truemate out there for me. Someone I would know when I smelled zer. There was someone out there for me, just for me. After all those years looking, though, I thought maybe the reason I hadn't met zer was that ze was half a world away. So I applied for a run in South Korea.

  
“We were sitting in this cordoned off area with all the other foreign alphas. All the omegas were in their brightly colored dresses – hanbok - in this promenade and dance thing with fans. Then this mouth-breather American alpha leans over to me. He smelled like shrimp chips and bad cologne and I remember he was wearing some silk anime shirt in some sad attempt to look classy. He asks me if I've spotted a 'perfect lotus flower' who'd 'treat me like an alpha king' to take home. He was some Asiaphile who thought Asian omegas were superior as mates, more deferential or something. Wouldn't get fat. He'd saved for two years from some shitty job just so he could afford to go to an Asian run.

  
“I laughed. He laughed too, because he thought I was agreeing with him, I guess, when all I could think was how sad he was. How little. He could never understand that I was there to find something so much more important. No matter how much I liked who I dated, there was always this hole. This place in my heart no one could fill up. I couldn't imagine living with it empty.”

  
Morgana asked before she could think the better of it, “Does Merlin fill it?”

  
Arthur pressed his face into his hands. He nodded.

  
“Then why, Arthur?” Abruptly Morgana dropped the Febreze and snatched his hands into her own. The palms were tinged with wetness as she clutched them and pulled him to look towards her so she could search his face. “I knew you, once. I believe you would have told Uther about me in high school, but not out of spite. To help and protect me, because you thought I needed it. Not because you wanted to see me changed or put down. I don't think you're that different from the boy you were then. I know you may even have had a right to be angry at Merlin, but the Arthur I know wouldn't have acted on that anger. I can see you wanting to scentmark him, I can, but actually doing it? After what we've talked about these months? Explain it to me, Arthur, why did you do this?”

  
“I don't know,” he answered thickly.

  
“You must, Arthur.”

  
“I don't. I was just so angry. There he was, and he was mine, meant to be mine, right here when I'd been looking so hard for him and Daegal had been all over him while he was mine and I couldn't think. I couldn't– It went red. It went red and all I felt was betrayal. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't think. I just wanted him never to betray me again.” The words snapped out of him like glass cracking under strain.

  
His chin lifted and he looked at her, sorrow and anger mixed together. “He didn't look for me. I've been searching for years, I've been searching continents, waiting for him, but he never looked for me. I was never important enough for him to look for, not even once. And then it didn't even matter enough for him to tell me to my face.”

  
Oh, she wanted to argue, she wanted to point out all the problems, but there was something so wounded there that she couldn't repay his sharing with immediately poking at him. So she stroked his hands and just listened.

  
“I think father's lied to me, and Gaius. You didn't think I was worth the trusting, even my pack hasn't all been honest with me. I go into the world where people talk to me only because I've got money or I'm good looking, or I'm connected to father. They're pleasant so they can touch one of those things. I thought – hoped – maybe there was one person who honestly could think of me as being something besides Arthur Pendragon. Someone who could love and trust me without condition. Everything else in my life seems to be a lie. Why couldn't this one thing be real?”

  
“Oh, Arthur, Arthur.” Morgana cupped his chin and drew him up to look at her. “Don't you understand? It _was_ real.”

  
Arthur just looked confused.

  
“Before all this, when you were just Merlin and Arthur.You were falling in love with him. We all could see it. You were trying not to, but you were, weren't you?”

  
Arthur's eyes darted over her face before he drew a breath and nodded. “I hated it. I felt like I was cheating on my truemate, dishonoring us both. He was still all I could think of.”

  
“Did he offer himself to you?” Morgana asked.

  
Arthur's gaze fell away. “Not in so many words, but–”

  
“He did, didn't he? And what did you say?”

  
Arthur pulled his hands away. “That I couldn't.”

  
“Why?” Morgana asked.

  
“Because of my mate.”

  
“But he was your mate.”

  
“I didn't know that.”

  
“But you were falling in love with him.”

  
“Yes.”

  
“Well?”

  
“What?”

  
“Don't you see it?”

  
“Anna.”

  
“ _Morg_ ana.”

  
“What didn't I see?”

  
“You refused Merlin for your truemate.”

  
“Yes, we've covered that.”

  
“No. Listen to it. You refused someone you thought you loved for some idea that didn't even have a name.”

  
“I had evidence, I had reason to think my truemate was near! Are you suggesting I should have abandoned this person I'd advertised and searched for? Just thrown away everything I'd dreamed of and embarked on some big gay romance?”

  
“No. I'm suggesting that if you'd followed your heart, and not some ridiculous superstition–”

  
“It doesn't seem all that far-fetched from here.” It was Arthur's turn to stand, motions jerky and harsh. He went to the open window now, the light shining orange as it dipped lower. Arthur's shadow painted a long stripe of black behind him. “But, you know, it hasn't occurred to anyone that maybe I might have chosen to be with Merlin. No one remembers that I honor my obligations. Maybe I thought I should meet this person who – for all I knew – might have been looking for me. Who'd I'd been advertising for. Maybe I thought I owed my truemate that much, since we were matched by nature. Maybe I thought I should meet zer and see if I could feel a shred of what I felt for Merlin with zer. That maybe I thought being honest and considerate, telling zer to zer face not to wait for me, because I'd lost my heart elsewhere was the right and noble thing to do. But nobody thinks that, do they?”

  
Morgana watched him. She wasn't sure if he was staring at the city, or at the reflection of himself.

  
“Do you really expect praise for something you might have done?” Morgana rose from the couch. She picked up the bottle and began to spray the chairs once more.

  
“No,” Arthur said. “I don't know what I might have done. But if I'd given into temptation and just fallen into bed with him as some pre-mating fling, I'd have found out about Merlin a lot earlier. Instead, I tried to honor all parties, and I was deceived.”

  
“You don't get credit for not using people, either. You're not supposed to,” Morgana said. “Merlin didn't owe you anything. I know maybe you think that he should have, that maybe he was beholden to you, but he isn't. No one owes anyone else a damn thing. If you choose to do it, that's your business.”

  
“No. You think I should have made some mancing grand gesture. You think I should have abandoned all my principles, left my unknown truemate hanging, and then announced over the radio or in the middle of a wedding that Merlin was my one true love, and I was off to live a happily and self-actualizingly ever after with him. You're right. It's so much more realistic than alpha meeting destined truemate omega and living normally ever after.”

  
Morgana started on the second chair with the bottle of Febreze. “Arthur, even if you were keeping your options open, no one expected a musical number. Not that anyone wants to be told they have a chance to be runner-up to love of your life, but maybe you should have told Merlin all that? Maybe there should have been more honesty all around?”

  
“He started the lying.” As if she needed reminding.

  
“Maybe he wouldn't have had to lie if you hadn't told him in a dozen or more ways in the first hour of your meeting that the only thing about him that mattered was his genitals,” Morgana said. She sniffed the room. A little chemical, perhaps, but she preferred the canned scent to the junk food funk.

  
“And maybe you shouldn't have confirmed that it was still the only thing that really mattered to you,” she suggested. Well. She wasn't cleaning this mess, but she wasn't sitting in it either. She headed off to the kitchen and rooted through the cabinets until she found trash bags.

  
She tossed the bag at Arthur when back in the living room. Arthur caught it and looked at it blankly. Then peered at her.

  
“It's not all that matters. I knew that. I just … he was supposed to bend to me.” He turned to look back at his reflection, holding the bag in loose fingers.

  
“Arthur, believe me when I say that normally I would slap the shit out of someone who dared say that to my face. However, I think that if you really wanted and expected someone to 'bend' to you, you wouldn't have fallen in love with Merlin,” Morgana said.

  
“But am I in love? He's my truemate, we're meant for each other.” He frowned at his reflection.

  
“Then maybe you weren't meant to have someone that did bend. Honestly, I'm not here to argue philosophy.” Morgana waved at the trash. “Start picking up this mess.”

  
Weirdly enough, Arthur moved away from the window and started to clean up. Morgana decided to enjoy it. It was probably the only time in their lives he was just going to comply with her.

  
“How is he? Really?” The tentative note was back as he picked up soda cans and plastic bags.

  
“Just this side of crushed,” Morgana answered frankly.

  
“I didn't mean to hurt him,” he said thinly, and then furrowed his brow, “But I did. I hurt my truemate. I hurt Merlin.”

  
He spoke the words as if trying them out. Then, finding them sound, the full implications seemed to hit him.  
This time, Morgana looked away. She didn't want to see Arthur wade through all those emotions. That he was doing it was enough for her.

  
The silence was much, much longer, this time. After some minutes of existing with that notion, Arthur began moving around the apartment, collecting waste and putting things away. Beyond cleaning, she could also see he was thinking, and she was content to let him carry on. He was a little awkward at it, and Morgana wondered if this was the first time he'd ever cleaned the place on his own.

  
“ … Do you think he could forgive me?” Arthur asked after he'd set the dishwasher to run in the kitchen.

  
Morgana shrugged. “I think you should have kept your hands and your teeth off him until he invited them. Because you did those things, I don't know if he can forgive you.”

  
Arthur sunk down to sit on the couch again, clearly absorbing that as stoically as he could. Though as the moments passed, Morgana saw his shoulders square, his spine straighten, and the morose features bled into something determined and something idiotically Arthur-like.

  
“Maybe he can't forgive me,” he said. “He shouldn't have to. I don't expect him to. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't make it right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eagle-eyed readers will note a few small changes involving biography from the Merlin masturbating scene in chapter 7. This came from reading up on the topic a bit, because everyone's web history needs searches for how dogs do it. Basically, as an omega Merlin has 'vaginal' muscles which lock the knot in place, so it's a tandem thing, not a KNOT CONQUERS ALL THING...whhhiich I should have researched earlier, but, you know...
> 
>  
> 
> I know chapter 8 hurt, and I'm sorry to everyone who had a difficult time. Hopefully this will make it better?


	10. Great Adventures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, it's been an age, but this fic is NOT ABANDONED. I have no intentions of abandoning it. However, it might be time between posts, I don't really know. It depends on circumstances I cannot predict, and am not going to elaborate on here and now. However, I want to thank everyone who expressed gratitude, encouragement, anticipation and even frustration in the comments or on Tumblr. It's touching how many of you care, and it's because so many of you do that this is out even this soon. You are all an amazing bunch of people, please know that.
> 
> On that note, please, please, please, give some love to my betas, Straythegrey and KestrelSparhawk. They have been unfathomably awesome and committed to helping me get this out. I owe them more than I could ever say, and if you enjoy this chapter, it's mostly due to them, and not me. They have beta'd like champs, and any errors that you find are probably my fault. They have been so incredibly amazing, keeping me on track and remembering my world building when I myself forget, so thank you Kes, and Stray! This is all you!
> 
> ON TO THE FIC.

For the umpteenth time Merlin wondered why he was doing this. It was pure and utter insanity. He'd done nothing but dread it for weeks. On multiple nights he had lain awake contemplating the dozens of insane ways attending one innocent little engagement party could go horrifically wrong. By the time three a.m rolled around, the scenarios had reached ludicrous proportions.

Just because he recognized how dumb the notion of Uther as an omega-hunting cyborg from the future with an alpharchy agenda was, that did not minimize his anxiety surrounding the situation. And since he knew such concerns were ridiculous bordering on the lunatic, he was having anxiety about his anxiety about total nonsense. Arthur was not a prince from a distant planet come to claim his human mate at any cost, and there was little chance the zombie apocalypse would break out over hors d'oeuvres.

And then there were the many, many unheard messages and unread texts on his phone from Arthur. Sometimes he felt as if his world had gotten a new center of gravity, as if New Messages was the black hole in the middle of his life. A black hole he dared not venture into, for what lay on the other side? He wasn't ready to know. He wasn't ready to admit there was a man called Arthur at all, let alone that he had previously alternated between wanting to kiss Arthur senseless and beat him about with a copy of _The Subjugation of Omegas_. Now Merlin was feeling the need to bludgeon full time, without the moments of carnal yearning. Okay, that was a lie. Maybe there were a _few_ moments of carnal fantasizing, but always with a penitent Arthur, who was occasionally gagged or handcuffed, which Merlin told himself made the whole thing way less pathetic and creepy. It was a fib, but Merlin was willing to live with a few small lies, considering his state. He had a feeling his lectures were slightly less coherent than usual, considering how little sleep and, frankly speaking, sanity he was running on. The hell of it was, he had no one else to blame but himself for the mansion looming larger and larger before him. Gwen hadn't even asked him if he was still going to Uther's engagement party for her and Lance. She'd assumed he wouldn't want to.

He didn't. God knew he didn't.

Everyone had made it abundantly clear that his attendance was not at all anticipated. Gwen and Freya understood why he might not want to be within a mile of such a gathering. Once Morgana had induced him to reveal most of the story, the topic seemed to settle and the subtle tension that had been lingering in the air evaporated. Gwen had engaged him once or twice about his feelings on the matter; but other than that, it remained dropped, and everyone was much easier with it. So, Merlin was out, and so was Finna. She said she loved Gwen, but she had had to listen to Uther for years at college functions, and without an employer to limit her vitriol, she might just say one or two things to the senator on the topics of entitlement, sexism and classism, and a few other isms she could think of.

Merlin had only felt the smallest scrap of guilt in relation to his terminated party attendance, and it was far outweighed by relief …

… Until Gwen went shoe shopping.

She needed shoes for her dress, and somehow Merlin found himself tagging along. He didn't mind shoe departments, really. They were big – lots of places to sit down and a never-ending supply of entertainment in the form of people sashaying around in assorted footwear and admiring themselves from the ankles down in mirrors. Even though he preferred flat shoes (why did people continue to wear heels with the damage they did?!), he put on some heels to appease Gwen and Freya, since they were of a line designed exclusively for masculine feet and were apparently 'to die for'. It made them both smile, and so tottering around in towering red stilettos for a minute was worth how ridiculous he felt.

Everything was going well. In fact, things were going great, with Freya battling a femalpha for the last pair of peep toe heels out of a clearance rack and carrying her booty to Gwen triumphantly. They were a soft spring yellow, with big taffeta bows, and apparently would be perfect to contrast the lavender of Gwen's party dress, according to Freya. Gwen responded with equal enthusiasm.

While modeling them, she burst into tears in a storm of anxiety and tried to run for the bathroom, except she was wearing merchandise; so a sales attendant had to chase after them. Once the feathers were smoothed, the shoes paid for and Gwen fed some ice cream, she confessed just how nervous she was about the party. About the people who would be there, and if they would accept her. She was also focused on doing Lance proud.

Which had led Merlin to do some major re-thinking.

Gwen had no idea that she possessed elegance and graciousness in spades. She hadn't grown up with much money, and Merlin knew she felt out of her depth at times. He was sure there were some mean children in her past who mocked her for it, but the honest truth was that her natural sweetness and genuine concern for other people made her damn near perfect. It would be impossible for her to shame Lance; she'd actually have to try to mess things up. But, Gwen didn't see it that way. She worried.

Which made Merlin worry for her. He might have known she would be fine, and have Freya and Gwaine, but he didn't like her feeling nervous. He wanted to spare her the agitation, and there was only one way to help with that.

He should have looked at those texts, listened to the messages, or at least picked up the phone when it rang that night, lighting up Arthur's new caller ID; Knothead McDouchewad, courtesy of Freya. All he could do was stare at the screen and let it ring. He just wasn't ready. Not that Arthur was taking being ignored well. That very day Merlin discovered that Arthur had added written mail to his list of contact attempts, and the unopened letter was burning a hole in Merlin's briefcase.

It wasn't that Merlin didn't know he should find out what Arthur was saying. His personal predictions ran from abject groveling to alpha orders, all the way to expecting a notification of some kind of bizarre legal proceeding born of an old law too stupid for anyone to expend energy expunging it, like states where oral sex was illegal, some variation of 'an unattached alpha and omega were unchaperoned in a room together for two minutes, and therefore must be married'. He knew he should investigate … he just didn't want to. He considered making someone else read the various contact attempts, as he couldn't seem to muster up the courage to discover even if they were apologetic or autocratic in nature, but it didn't sit right with him. It felt private, Arthur's actual words. Paraphrasing during gossip was one thing, but the thought of sharing words meant only for him made him uncomfortable. He'd rather wait until he felt able enough.

He was still a little afraid of Arthur, in that secret place inside himself. It made him ashamed, that seed of fear. He didn't want to be cowed. After all, what could Arthur really do to him? They weren't mated or married, so there was no actual realistic legal recourse for Arthur. He was a good two hundred years too late for all those antiquated omega-as-property laws, and actually trying to seek damages against an omega for being sexy and knowing it would bring him nightmarish publicity, and probably would have him thrown out of court for a nuisance case.

If Arthur lost his mind completely and dragged Merlin off to chain him up in a secret harem (Princess Leia Slave Bikini optional) were Merlin so much as set a toe inside the bounds of Pendragon Manor, it's not like his friends wouldn't notice. They'd storm the place looking for him. Hell, his mother would drive down, and though she might seem like a lamb to the ignorant, ill-behaved patients knew better: the woman had a backbone of steel.

There was a point, however, when the fear churned itself into something more substantial; anger. Angry that he should feel afraid, angry over the way Arthur had handled it, angry that it prevented him being there for Gwen, angry that a future he'd just begun to contemplate the viability of was dashed so thoroughly … and maybe even a little angry at himself for not telling Arthur earlier.  
Which was the long version of how he came to be on the driveway to Pendragon Manor in Gwaine's lemon yellow sports car. Merlin was fairly sure the driveway was over a mile long. No mere yards or feet would do; no, the lofty Pendragons needed to have a good healthy buffer between their noble selves and the odious rabble. A buffer zone and a big ivy covered wall encircled the property, tall and impenetrable looking, as if they were expecting a neighboring king's trebuchets to roll up and lay siege to the Pendragon holdings. A more likely explanation was that the thirteen foot wall topped with iron spikes discouraged the paparazzi from trying to scale it to take pictures, but Merlin was enjoying imagining King Uther and Prince Arthur resorting to eating rats to stave off starvation while trying to wait out the attacker.

The driveway was accessed through a giant iron gate with the Pendragon family crest featured prominently. The crest was a dragon, ringed in laurel leaves and clutching two swords in its claws. Merlin was almost convinced the crest was made up, since Pendragon lineage wasn't actually traceable before Uther's great-grandfather, who was a self made millionaire with sketchy origins. Therefore, any monies acquired in the Industrial Revolution still made the lofty Pendragons little more than _nouveau riche_ – which was still spitting distance from the rabble, in some exalted corners.

Merlin and Gwaine hadn't been allowed in until the voice on the other end of the intercom had verified that they were on a list. People like this always had lists; most desirable, blackballed, wealthiest, people to shoot on sight … though since the gates opened, Merlin imagined the person on the other end of the intercom had not consulted the Top Ten People Arthur Pendragon Is Slightly Miffed At list. Or, in Gwaine's case, People Most Likely To Get Unsightly Drunk And Do Things The Neighbors Will Tsk About. It was some benign party guest list that had permitted them to coast down towards the manor, a list neither of them belonged on since benign was not an attribute he or Gwaine possessed.

The driveway was tree-lined and lovely, with box hedges and shaped bushes among a sea of perfectly mowed grass on either side. Across the lawn and through trees and flower beds there were glimpses of outlying structures Merlin suspected were quaintly called 'guest cottages', even though they looked like three-bedroom homes. The yard dripped the kind of obsessive care only a small army of full-time gardeners could provide. Or convicts on work release.

No matter how beautiful Pemberly was, Merlin seriously did not want to be on this driveway. For all the dappled light and beds of brilliant daffodils sliding past the window, Merlin was humming Chopin's Funeral March under his breath only, he didn't know it that well, and somehow it transmuted into the Imperial March, from Star Wars. He decided both were apt. It wasn't Pemberly. It was the Death Star. Arthur was not going to be climbing out of a lake in a translucent white shirt, newly baptized into a nice guy, and swaying Merlin with his sexiness. Merlin already knew Arthur was sexy, and moisture was not going to augment it.

Also, Uther was more like Vader than Catherine de Burgh. Something to escape, not just endure.

But, Merlin wanted to prove he wasn't afraid more than he wanted to flee. After all, what did he have to be ashamed of? Yes. He wasn't the one who –

And that was enough of those thoughts. He needed to keep a cool head.

Even though he and Gwaine were clearly and repeatedly invited to stay in Pendragon Manor the day before and after the party (an offer Lance, expression pained, dutifully made on behalf of Uther, with a persistence and frequency that made it sound less like an invitation and more like an imperative), Merlin's fortitude only went to attending the party. There was a lot he was willing to do for Gwen, but getting naked, showering and sleeping under a shared roof with Arthur – not to mention Uther – for a whole weekend was not among them. Gwaine, bless him, had invented a reason they couldn't come down early Friday, and Merlin claimed grading midterms as the reason they couldn't stay Sunday.

Nobody argued, but then, Merlin assumed Arthur didn't want Merlin staying any longer than he had to either, and so he and his pack were unlikely to push the matter. Arthur might even have fudged the details to Uther, so the senator didn't pursue it after a certain point. Or that might be wishful thinking. Other overtures from the senator still seemed friendly, which was likely to mean he remained in the dark about all the assorted goings on between Merlin and his son. And Mithian. And Morgana. The senator was throwing a party without knowing that between the two groups there was a whole soap opera's worth of hurt feelings and fuckery.

Still, Merlin suspected a little help went into securing alternate arrangements for him and Gwaine in town. Merlin had booked the only available room in a local Bed and Breakfast Lance had recommended, which also only happened to have one bed. He and Gwaine had decided they could share a bed for the night. Their relationship had long since mellowed into something platonic, despite Gwaine's occasional grabby hands. Gwaine had bid his romantic designs on Merlin a sweet goodbye, and had become a dear friend. He might have grinned and waggled his brows and made some lewd innuendo about cuddling, but Merlin knew it was for show. Gwaine had taken the story of the assault with an almost comforting aplomb, although there had been something sharp and angry in his eyes. It was quickly hidden under a layer of geniality, but Merlin knew he'd seen it.

However, when he and Gwaine had arrived at the B&B, there was some 'mistake' and now he and Gwaine each had their own private rooms, and the tab was already taken care of. While the lady busied herself with administrative chores, Merlin had deliberated about whether or not he should get upset about it. He ultimately decided not, because that would mean getting to the bottom of who was meddling and why, and that was something Merlin wanted nothing to do with at present. So, the gift-horse could yawn all it wanted; Merlin's gaze would not be drawn to peer inside. It was a bed. He was going to sleep on it for one night then pretend the Pendragons had never existed. Well, pretend all the time he wasn't eating their food and drinking their wine and walking about on their property. As far as he was concerned, Lance paid for the rooms.

He tugged at his tie. It was plum colored. Not a color Merlin would have chosen for himself, but then, neither was the cut of the suit, which was all runway fab, and for men with style oozing out of their pores. He was no such man, but he trusted Morgana.

When faced with the conundrum of party clothes, he'd dragged the Christian Dior suit Morgana had given him for Christmas out of the plastic storage bag. He didn't want to shame Gwen; if all the people wanted to hate him for his opinions, fine, but they wouldn't snicker about him being the ill-dressed weirdo. No. He was going to be the snazzily dressed weirdo. When he'd received the suit three months ago, Merlin hadn't been able to imagine ever wearing it of his own volition, but it was the only thing in the closet that had spoken to him. It fit like a dream, of course. With his hair styled, shoes shined and good luck Dalek cufflinks in place, the mirror of the B&B bathroom reflected a sharply dressed stranger he almost didn't recognize.

Gwaine had openly gaped at him, affirming Merlin's impression that Morgana had done splendidly. Speechlessness turned into wandering hands, but Merlin knew the grabbing and the staring was more to pump his ego, rather than Gwaine capitalizing on an opportunity to grope him. Still, it had the desired effect; Merlin felt dead sexy. He also felt secure under three scent-blocking products.  
Well. Had felt. That confidence was being corroded by anxiety as the mansion loomed nearer.

The driveway eventually opened into a wide loop that circled a massive fountain, which spat water from the snarling mouths of western-style dragons in a display of liquid wealth. To one side there was a parking area with a number of sleek trucks and vans with the names of florists and rental party equipment on the sides. There seemed to be a great deal of activity about the manor, the backs of all the vehicles thrown open and being unloaded by lots of busy workers.

“I think this is the stage management bit we're not meant to see,” Gwaine said. He halted for a few people in red catering company shirts to scurry to a van. Parking was rather easier than anticipated though; a pissy betamale with a clipboard and a bluetooth rapped on the driver's side window until Gwaine rolled it down, got verified on another list (People Who Can Park And Not Get Towed) and then was directed to an approved area.

They parked beside Lance's Prius. When Gwaine cut the engine, there was a kind of finality that made Merlin's stomach drop. They had arrived. He closed his eyes and breathed. Breathing was good. He could focus on that.

His eyes started open when Gwaine clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Don't worry,” Gwaine's tones were warming, his fingers sliding into the back of Merlin's neck and rubbing at the tension accumulating there.

“Yeah, no reason to worry,” Merlin said with a weak laugh. In the rear view mirror he saw catering people carrying stainless steel equipment and crates of bottles. Intellectually, he knew that people at Arthur's socioeconomic level had parties like this all the time, and they did none of the labor themselves. There was no hunting for the right color table cloths or the perfect party favors. It was all hired out. Still, the bustling reminded him of the big functions the colleges did, or weddings. Something major, instead of an engagement party. Not that the engagement was small potatoes, but Gwen and Lance would have been just as happy (probably happier) with a barbeque in a more modest back yard.

“We can still turn around,” Gwaine said, “go right back up that bloody ostentatious drive, give the old two fingered salute to this whole mess. Do you fancy Atlantic City?”

Merlin rolled his head and looked at Gwaine. “Abandon Gwen for alcohol and tassel pasties?”

“I'm sure they have todger tassels too … I wonder if they can make it spin the way I've seen birds do? Hmm... Maybe two wee ones hanging from the bollocks?” Gwaine's look went speculative, filled with swirling tassels and bouncing anatomy.

“And leave Gwen alone with Pack Pendragon and God knows how many guests attending specifically to size her up?”

“She does have Lance,” Gwaine reminded him. “And her father.”

But somehow Merlin couldn't stop the horrible picture unfolding in his mind's eye. “Yeah, but what if they decide they don't like her? They might. What if a bunch of bitchy sorority socialites with names like Mimi or Chloe or Apple follow her into the bathroom and while she's in a stall make snotty comments about how she isn't worthy of Lance, knowing she can hear them? What if they rip her dress and spread nasty rumors about her?”

Gwaine quirked a brow. “...Are you sure you're not thinking of a film? _Mean Girls_ , possibly?”

Merlin made a face at him.

“I'm sure Freya will go with her to the loo if she sees a pack of savage sorority sisters stalking poor Gwen,” Gwaine said.

“Great. Then it will be a knock-down drag-out fistfight in the bathroom, because that's an improvement. Then Lance will have to charge in there and separate them, and they'll be all bedraggled, because you know how Gwen gets; as soon as one of them touches Freya Gwen will wipe the floor with them. Not that Freya is defenseless, she pulls hair, but Gwen and Freya don't have those crazy manicures rich breeders get to scratch other breeders when shoes go on sale and they have to fight over the best ones. And someone will press charges, and they'll all have to go to jail and the papers will get hold of it, and they'll spin it and blame the upstart working girl, Gwen and Lance won't get to marry her, and she'll have a record and lose her job, and when Gwen dies miserable and alone pining for Lance working as a waitress in a greasy diner where the fry cook sexually harasses her, _it will be our fault_!”

Gwaine just looked at him. Then he gave Merlin a little pat. “Now, now, don't fret.”

“I'm not fretting,” Merlin said, fully aware he was.

“Aye, you are. But I suppose Gwen, diner waitress with a record, **_would_** prey on the conscience. We'd best put our feet forward then.”

Merlin realized he'd argued them into doing the thing he didn't want to do. He would happily have accompanied Gwaine far, far away from here, were it not Gwen who was up on the block. In fact, he'd prefer the mind-numbing tedium of bouncing tassels glued to the probably surgically-enhanced anatomy of bored-looking exotic employees to a party with the Pendragons. At least with the tassel-wavers there would be no question that the entire interaction was predicated on money.

But it was Gwen, and he had to buck up.

They looked at each other for a long moment. Gwaine searched his face, amusement changing into concern. Merlin wondered what Gwaine saw and whether it was blatant or product of their familiarity, but he made an effort to push a smile onto his features. He didn't want to contribute any more to the anxiety surrounding this situation than everyone was probably already experiencing by virtue of being aware of the tension between him and Arthur. All he had to do was survive a few hours. All any of them had to do was survive a few tiny hours.

Gwaine returned with a broad encouraging smile, and patted Merlin once more. “Let's go prevent a battle royale in the loo and save Gwen from having her bum pinched by greasy members of the hospitality line of employment, shall we?”

They got out of the car, gathering a few items, folding away sunglasses, smoothing out their party duds. Then they forded through the stream of people to the big double front doors of the manor house, which were open to afford a view of a grand foyer. The diamond-patterned marble floor gleamed aggressively, glossy white broken only in the center between the double staircases, where the Pendragon crest blazed again, this time in black and red stone.

This time it was a betafem with a clip-board and bluetooth who met them. She bore a striking similarity to the betamale outside; overworked, yammering into the bluetooth, desperate for some caffeine and dressed in navy. Allied Draconem Corporation probably had a secret plant where they made prim and harried PAs, all pre-loaded with two modes; snooty, and brown-nosing, with quickie-over-the-desk-slut-mode optional. This legion of programmed minions were inflicted across the country to terrorize anyone seeking access to any ADC holdings.

Or not, but Merlin would have been less bitchy about it if the same judgmental look hadn't crossed both PA's faces when they caught sight of him and Gwaine. Eyeball them she did, and then tapped her earpiece and spoke. When some confirmation came, she stepped forward to greet them.

“Mr. Emrys, Mr. Green, welcome to Pendragon Manor,” she said on approach. Her smile was brisk, compulsory. She didn't even have to consult the Ill-Dressed Yokels To Allow On The Property Anyway list.

Merlin tilted toward Gwaine and whispered out of the side of his mouth. “They know us by sight.”

“Be grateful it isn't 'shoot on sight',” Gwaine muttered back, but pasted a smile on his face that would charm the tassels off an exotic dancer. He greeted the PA brightly, and his natural charm coaxed a more sincere smile out of her.

A uniformed betafem maid appeared behind the PA. She wore an austere maid's uniform, all austere slate in an unflattering cut with a spotless white apron.

“Ida, please take Mr. Emrys and Mr. Green to Mr. Du Lac's room,” the PA ordered the maid.

The maid, Ida, actually curtsied. She turned, hesitating until she was sure Merlin and Gwaine were following across the impressive foyer, then carried on up the stairs. She spoke not a word during the trek, which was just as well, considering Merlin and Gwaine ogled the opulence behind her back the entire journey. The foyer was just the beginning. Upstairs they found paneled halls with paintings of Spanish galleons, riders in hunting pink, lots of distinctly Renaissance still-life fruit and modern distorted figures that were just weird enough to be very expensive. Doors left ajar allowed glimpses of heavily ornamented rooms weighty with antiques, and an untouched museum quality to the arrangements of jade figurines, Roman pottery and medieval weaponry.

It was an enormous house that no one really lived in, and it looked every inch the show piece. Arthur had told Merlin that he had an apartment in the city, and the senator lived in DC most of the year, meaning the only time they came up was for parties or long weekends, usually with business associates taking up the guest list. No one had lived here full time since Arthur and Morgana spent their adolescence in these halls.

Despite the opulence, Merlin felt something lonely oozing out of the walls. Pendragon Manor was beautiful, yes, but it was also cold and hollow. Even when he saw a massive wing back chair perfectly positioned to soak in afternoon sun, Merlin couldn't imagine a peaceful read curled up in it. The manor didn't feel like a home to be comfortable in, but something for showing off. He'd probably get in trouble for farting on the chair, as there was likely another army of household domestics to take care of the manor and they undoubtedly would be able to tell if even the air molecules had been displaced around the items in their charge. Even being mistress of the house, all Merlin could imagine was a maid like Ida being appointed to follow him around, replacing anything he disturbed so much as a millimeter back to its particular place. And why not? It wouldn't be his money paying their wages, and the privilege of the one holding the purse strings was hiring people who made the house perfect at all times, even if that meant working around a breeder.

The maid brought them to a door in a paneled hall. She smiled and gestured to it, a more real smile than any of the PAs had offered. It wavered slightly though, as if she wasn't sure it would be well received. Merlin smiled back at her and it firmed. She bobbed a curtsey, because apparently Uther needed lots of curtseying from his staff or else he felt insecure with his place in the world, and off she went.  
Once Ida-the-maid had gone, Gwaine glanced at Merlin. “This explains rather a lot about Arthur. I wonder if the senator is aware he's in the wrong bloody country if he wants to be lorded.”

“Judging from some of his speeches I actually think he's aiming for 'Sainted',” Merlin said, but only after glancing around to be sure there was no one to hear. Bad-mouthing a guy whose food and wine you were about to consume was rude.

“Do they saint bigots, then?” Gwaine asked.

“Well, he's usually called 'defender of traditional marriage', 'champion of religious rights' and 'true sword of Jesus'.”

“So, obfuscating terms which boil down to bigotry. Lovely.” Gwaine knocked on the door. “I only wish there was a punchbowl for me to spike. I think large scale drunkenness is one of the few things that would make this bearable.”

After a few moments the door opened gingerly and Gwen's cautious face appeared in the crack. The tentative reserve in her expression melted into relief almost at once. She threw open the door, arms thrown open in greeting, revealing a sleeveless lavender dress with a fluffy skirt and lots of floaty chiffon bits which looked to Merlin like the love child of a particularly spiky orchid and a fluffy jellyfish. She was wearing the yellow heels, too.

“Merlin!” She pulled him into the room. After a quick up and down look she cuddled him into a perfumed hug. “I can't believe you're here. You look gorgeous!”

Merlin spied Lance by the bed, buttoning up his shirt. Merlin mouthed him an apology, but Lance waved it off with a smile.

“Lance,” Gwaine greeted as he shuffled in around Merlin and Gwen, tipping the door closed behind him.

“Gwaine, Merlin. I'm glad you could come,” Lance said, adjusting his shirt, which somehow was the exact same shade of lavender as Gwen's dress. He stepped forward to shake Gwaine's hand.

Gwen withdrew from her hug and cupped Merlin's face, looking up into it with brown eyes full of concern. “Are you sure you want to do this? It's not too late. I would completely understand if you wanted to go.”

And Merlin was sure she would. Gwen was wonderful that way. For that very reason, all that unconditional wonderfulness, he wanted to be there for her. He knew she was more worried than she was letting on. The week leading up to the engagement party had seen her obsessing over her packing, baking up a storm and cleaning her home as if party guests would look at her and know she hadn't scrubbed the inside of the toilet tank this week. Merlin also knew that was her way of burning off tension. The crying jag at the mall had sealed his fate.

There was also that he'd asked so much of her, lately. He felt he ought to pay it back, somehow. Be there for her, for a change. Friendships were supposed to be a give and take, after all, and Gwen was letting him practically live with her. Not that Gwen was keeping a ledger to balance it all out; she was just that good. That sweet. That kind. It made him want to do something for her even more. And he could get through this. He would.

Merlin shook his head. “No, I'm sure. I'll be damned if I'll be terrorized out of doing things. If we keep our cool we'll all come out of this unscathed. There will be guests everywhere, so the presence of witnesses will discourage me from trying to beat him to death with the ice sculpture.”

He offered her a smile to help reassure her. It was a party. There wasn't much Arthur could do to him either, and there would be plenty of people to get lost among. They didn't even necessarily have to talk to each other. Hell, see each other. With any bit of luck, Arthur would just pretend he didn't exist. He would have asked Lance to pass on to Arthur a request to ignore him, nearly did, but then he realized how tragically juvenile it was. Arthur had to know this was the wrong place and time.

“Well, from the looks of this place, odds are there's a bit of dungeon that didn't get converted into posh wine cellar. Uther seems just the bloke to have an iron maiden squirreled away,” Gwaine said, ever so helpfully.

Merlin's brain, unbidden, flashed to an exhibit he'd once seen of medieval torture tools. His stomach went sick and he shot Gwaine a sour look for putting the image in his head at all.

“Gwaine,” Gwen chastened, casting a glance to Lance.

“Are you going to tell me he doesn't seem like the type who fancies doling out a bit of punishment as a stress reliever? One of those 'safewords are for pussies' sorts. No doubt that's where Arthur got a taste for knocking omegas about.”

Merlin had no comment to make about potential sex dungeons because the idea went hand-in-hand with imagining Uther being semi-clothed, and, he'd rather not, thank you. The latter part of Gwaine's statement was verging into perilous territory, and though the words had an arch inflection, there was a fierce displeasure behind them that Gwaine hadn't totally masked.

Merlin did, however, have to stop the immediate impulse to defend Arthur. Whatever Arthur had done, Merlin knew he hadn't enjoyed it. Both of them had been wrecked by extreme emotions. He remembered Arthur's face, right before he slammed the door on it; it had been horrified and a little frightened. Arthur didn't have a taste for what had happened between them. In fact, Merlin was almost certain Arthur would never again corner someone and mark them. Arthur really meant it when he said he wanted to protect, he wanted to do right. It was just that moment, those circumstances … it broke that rigorous moral code Arthur tried to hold himself to.

There was a pill bottle flirting at the back of Merlin's mind as well. While the notion of a secondary influence on Arthur was possible, it still didn't earn him immediate forgiveness.

“Gwaine, please,” Gwen was now entreating. “I know things could be miles better, but it really won't help, making jabs at Lance's Alpha and Grand Alpha.”

“It's okay, Gwen,” Lance said. “It's a tense time, and my pack has not shown itself to its best advantage.”

“Is that what you're calling sexual assault, then?” Gwaine raised a brow.

“Gwaine,” Merlin finally interjected. “Gwen is right. It isn't helping. Not that I don't appreciate the defense, and not that all that and more doesn’t need to be said eventually, but I didn't come here to dredge the whole mess up. I came for Gwen.”

Gwen bit her lip against a swell of emotion. Her hand fluttered to his cheek and then reached up to fix Merlin's tie while she got control of herself. “You're sure?” she asked once more. “You could always hide up here. Make obscene gestures from the window where no one could see you.”

“Tempting,” Merlin said. He smiled for her. “Yes, I'm sure.”

“I'm glad,” she said. “But ... you'll be careful?”

“I will.”

“Don't worry, we've got it sorted,” Gwaine interjected, “and if anyone does start trouble – for _anyon_ e, mind – well, they'll have the rest of us to contend with, won't they? Posh toffs.”

Merlin gestured to Gwaine. “See? My own belligerent Irish bodyguard. He'll make sure I don't get mugged, I make sure he doesn't mug anyone else or get sloppy drunk.”

“Seems like an equitable arrangement. Still, you will be mindful?” Gwen checked.

“Promise,” Merlin said.

“He won't even go to the loo alone,” Gwaine agreed.

“And neither will you,” Merlin added to Gwen, images of Dinerwaitress!Gwen flashing before his eyes. He also needed to banish any lingering thoughts about sex dungeons and the chances he'd end up strapped ass up in one. Focusing on Gwen was a good way to do it. He caught Gwen's wrists and removed her hands from his face. Then he gave them a squeeze before releasing them. “Go, finish dressing.”

She smiled, nodded, and knotted her hands as she headed to the dresser to rifle through a travel jewelry case to select jewelry. In swift succession she held several pairs of earrings up and examined the effect in the mirror, but dropped all of them back in.

“How much time do I have?” she asked by the time she'd cycled through all the earrings and was back to the first pair she'd pulled out.

“Plenty. Relax,” Lance promised in his soothing voice.

“How's it been so far?” Merlin asked. He perched on one of the two chairs set in the corner closest to the door. The room was like many of the others he'd seen on the way up: big, elegantly appointed and yet slightly oppressive. There was probably a maid somewhere in her dowdy uniform who would know if one of the bronze statuettes was a quarter inch off its allotted space on the dresser.

Gwen pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Perfectly civil, if a little strained?” she said, the statement turning upwards into a question as she glanced at Lance for confirmation.

Lance nodded, but added nothing.

“It was just the four of us for dinner, last night. Lance and me, Uther and Arthur… Did you see either of them on the way up?” Gwen asked hesitatingly.

“Neither hide nor hair. It's a bit of a madhouse, though,” Gwaine said. He had his arms crossed and was leaning against the wall by the window, casting occasional looks out it.

“It's been like that for hours,” Gwen said, “the tents were up before breakfast.”

When a knock sounded, Merlin got up and opened the door carefully. He relaxed when he saw it was Freya in an ivory beaded dress and a patchwork wrap. She stepped in, kicked the door closed then kissed Merlin on the cheek.

“Hello,” she said. “You came after all. I would have won the pool.”

“Hi, Freya. Yes, here I am.”

“You look foxy,” she said, and reached up to adjust his tie.

“I feel like I'm walking around in someone else's skin,” Merlin confessed softly.

“Whoever you skinned, he was really hot. You're going to turn a few heads.” Freya's smile was small and sneaky.

Gwen turned toward them. “What do you think? The pearls or the pink ones?” She held up both pairs of earrings in succession.

“Pearls,” Merlin and Freya said in tandem. Merlin dropped into the chair again while Freya perched on the arm, watching Gwen as she slid the earrings in, then pulled out a pearl necklace.

Lance slid his jacket on and approached her. From behind he caught her elbows and kissed the back of her neck. “You look gorgeous.” He took the necklace and latched the clasp for her.

Gwen smiled at him through the mirror. When he finished, she turned in his arms and kissed him lightly.

They spent a moment standing together before Lance turned toward the rest of them. He looked at all of them in turn. Then he drew in a breath and straightened his shoulders. “I want to thank you for being here. I know the circumstances are stressed, and I know none of you had to come. You're here to support Gwen, and I imagine that, to you, this is the most hostile of enemy territory there could be. I want to promise you, I don't condone what has happened.”

Merlin interjected, the tone of the conversation making him squirm, “It's fine, Lance.”

Lance shook his head. “No. It isn't. The incident with you, even the situation with Morgana, they weren't right. Things haven't been like this before. This is not behavior my pack has ever partaken in. It's not behavior I think should have happened. Maybe it's that we've never been confronted with people who cause such strong emotions in our alpha, so we've yet to be tested when it really matters. I don't know. But I won't be a part of something like this. I don't deny Arthur had cause to be angry at you, Merlin, because he did. You should have told him. But, there was a line, and Arthur crossed it.”

Gwen walked up from behind Lance and linked their arms, lacing her fingers with his. She looked up at him and offered a smile when he glanced at her, then both of them turned their attention to the other three in the room once more.

Lance continued, “I've told Arthur, Gwen and I will do this party for appearances. I've drawn up the appropriate paperwork to break from Pack Pendragon I haven't filed it, but I have drawn it up. I owe Arthur a great deal; my career, it could be argued. But more importantly, he has been my friend for years, and believe me when I say this new behavior is unusual. It's only because of how well I know him, and because he asked me for time, that I'm giving him a chance to fix this. I've told him that if anything else happens to any of you, if anyone so much as looks at Merlin cross-eyed, then I'm out of the pack as loudly as possible.”

“I'm sure Uther would love that headline,” Merlin murmured, sure that everyone was well aware what an absolute fracas it would be. When someone left a major pack, the press covered it with the same fervor as a Hollywood divorce, usually because it involved such high profile people. Admission to the oldest and most prestigious packs was generally a feat, a statement of great emotion, or, more usually, a consolidation of power. Departures were very rare and efforts were made to keep them quiet. 'Irreconcilable differences' was the only comment and it was up to the media to spend weeks speculating and theorizing. Sometimes, though, a departure would be splashy, with the defector making the talk show circuit and airing dirty laundry long and loud, usually while bumping zer tell-all book. It was just that kind of publicity influential packs liked to avoid, so it was not uncommon for great lengths to be taken to terminate membership quietly. Some had pre-annex agreements that stipulated confidentiality on inner pack information, but they weren't particularly iron-clad.

Lance breaking from pack Pendragon would be news, and if Lance parted specifically because of his pack's treatment of omegas and said so publicly, it would hurt the senator in a big way. Uther Pendragon was already number one on a lot of fecundist shit lists, but depending on how much was said, it could probably cripple Uther's career, and kill any political aspirations Arthur had. But it sliced both ways; Lance could very easily find himself on a blacklist, his career stalled when a host of the like-minded refused to enlist his services, and others wanted to avoid sensationalism. Merlin also doubted Lance would take a sum of money in exchange for silence.

It made Merlin ache a little, that Lance was going this far for someone who, honestly, he didn't know extremely well. If Lance could have done anything to prove how worthy he was of Gwen, this was it.

Lance nodded to Merlin, then said, “I'm not ignorant of the power dynamics here. You're on Pendragon property, about to be surrounded by their people, their pack. senator Pendragon is a force to be reckoned with, and I know his politics are not your politics. We just have to get through this afternoon, and then I swear, I will never ask you, or Gwen, to do anything like this again.”

Gwen squeezed Lance's hand and stepped forward. “I know there have been worries, but Lance and I have an understanding. He might leave Pack Pendragon in the future, he might not, but I know he will always do the right thing. That's more important to me than anything else; that he will do what his heart says is best.”

They smiled at each other again in that soppy way that once would have made Merlin roll his eyes. Now it just made his heart give a little twinge.

“Well, I'm convinced,” Gwaine broke the quiet, the only one ballsy enough to do it.

“Me too,” Freya said.

Merlin was a bit embarrassed, but he managed a wobbly smile and a thank you which was interrupted by another knock. Gwaine nominated himself to answering it after a quick scan and a signal from Gwen to go ahead.

Leon was on the other side and entered. He was wearing a snappy charcoal suit with a blue tie and smiled pleasantly. “Hello, welcome.”

“Leon,” Gwaine extended his hand and they shook before Leon addressed himself to Lance.

“I came to tell you Gwen's father has arrived. He's having a drink with the senator. He thought you might like to come down so we can all be introduced before the other guests begin to arrive.”

“My dad's here?” Gwen asked.

Leon nodded.

“We'll be right down,” Lance said.

“Just give me a moment,” Gwen turned to the mirror and fluffed at her hair and began fretting with her dress.

Lance grabbed his coat and tilted his head at Gwaine. “We'll just wait out here.”

Lance, Leon and Gwaine exited the room, chatting as they went.

As the door clipped shut Gwen grabbed Merlin's lapels and shook him violently as someone avoiding chipping their manicure could. “GET ME OUT OF HERE,” she wheezed, eyes wide.

“Whoa, Gwen, breathe, breathe,” Merlin said.

“Don't wrinkle the suit!” Freya came over and peeled Gwen's hands free, pushing a flask into them instead. “We need him to look like sex on a stick. Here, take this.”

“What is it?” Gwen unscrewed the cap cautiously.

Freya shrugged. “Vodka.” She turned Merlin towards her so she could smooth his jacket and fix his collar and tie once more, her gaze one of artistic appraisal.

“Maybe a small one.” Gwen knocked back a slug. She let out a huff of breath, face scrunching up. She stuck her tongue out, “Whipped Cream flavored vodka?”

“Vodka is vodka. It's like boozy dessert in my mouth. Besides, I'm not doing this sober.” Freya fiddled with the front of Merlin's hair until she nodded. “Don't touch anything,” she ordered Merlin and reclaimed her flask to take a swallow. Then she offered it to Merlin.

“Uh, no thank you. I don't want to deplete your supply,” Merlin said.

Freya waved her hand toward the hall. “I brought the bottle in my suitcase. I'll top up before we go down.”

Merlin shook his head against a laugh and took the flask for a small swallow. He didn't really want to be sober, either, but he probably should be. Still, a small sip wasn't going to seriously incapacitate him.

Gwen was fiddling with her appearance in the mirror once again. “What if they hate me?”

“Not possible,” Merlin said. “Right, Freya?”

“Well, if they do, they're jerks,” Freya said. “But, they're going to love you.”

“You just be you, Gwen, and you'll charm their socks off,” Merlin promised.

“You think?” Gwen said doubtfully. She stared at herself in the mirror, turning from one side to the other.

Merlin shook his head. How could she feel so insecure? She was magnificent...but maybe she needed to hear that?

He took her shoulders and turned her toward him and away from the mirror. He looked her dead in the eye. “Gwen Smith, you are a brilliant doctor with a heart bigger than every other body part – including the mega brain you needed to become a brilliant doctor. You're generous with your time and love, you volunteer, your patients adore you, you're a great cook and champion jello wrestler for charity. What's not to like?”

Gwen tilted her brows in a 'well, there is that' kind of way, but didn't look as comforted as Merlin would have liked. She reached to smooth her skirt again, but Merlin caught her hands.

“Look at it this way; if the senator was embarrassed by you, he never would have thrown a party to introduce you to his pack,” Merlin pointed out.

“But what if –” Gwen started.

“It won't,” Merlin said firmly.

“You didn't know what I was going to say,” Gwen pointed out.

“You are not going to spill wine on yourself, or forget how to say your own name, or accidentally talk about the time you popped that big cyst on that kid and the pus hit you in the chin. Lance would stop you,” Merlin said.

Gwen's smile was a little more sincere this time. “He hides it, but I know he's just as nervous.”

“It's going to be fine. We're all here for you,” Merlin said once more.

“I know. And thank you for that.” Gwen reached out and pulled Merlin and Freya into a hug. She pressed a kiss to both their cheeks and gave them both their own smile. Then she picked up her wrap from the bed, draped it over her shoulders, and looked at herself in the mirror one more time.

She turned to face Merlin and Freya. “Well?” she asked hopefully.

“You're beautiful,” Merlin said.

“If I swung that way I'd do you,” Freya agreed, toasting her with her flask.

Merlin took the flask from her.

Gwen smiled and headed out to where the studs were waiting in the hall.

Merlin had another gulp of the whipped cream vodka, then winced. “That stuff is weird.”

“It's like whipped cream straight from the can, but with alcohol. It's all win.” Freya reclaimed her flask, then gave Merlin the side eye. “What about you? Are you going to hold it together?”

Merlin shrugged. “Fifty-fifty chance I end up crying in a bathroom somewhere.”

“Sounds like exciting odds; If you play your cards right and vamp like hell, I'll give you the same odds you can make Arthur cry in a bathroom.” Freya capped her flask. She sighed, glanced at herself in the mirror, adjusted her boobs, then faced the door. “Let's go get 'em.”

Gwaine teased them for primping when they joined the others in the hall. With Leon in the lead, they once again plunged into the labyrinth of bedecked corridors. This walk was slightly less somber than the previous one, but still tinged with an underscored unease. It seemed to Merlin that everyone hastily made an effort to eradicate any protracted silence, filling it with senseless small talk. He hung at the back of the group, steeling himself for what was to come.

It seemed like only a moment later, and they were standing in front of some double doors in what was probably the eastern part of the mansion. Not nearly enough time for Merlin to give himself an adequate pep talk, but suddenly there Leon was, opening the doors and gesturing them inside, and maybe it was better that way. If he'd had been allowed to wait until he was ready, he doubted he'd ever have been.

The room beyond was impossibly tidy and as impersonally decorated as the rest of the manor, though this room had the kind of bland pomposity that existed only in movies about snooty rich white people. The furniture was heavy on leather and dark colors, the accents bronze figures and Chinese vases. It was probable no one had ever touched the books on the shelves, let alone read them. This was a room for admiring the oaky flavor in snifters of brandy while discussing how the latest PR nightmare could be turned around for more profit.

In the middle of the room was a wet bar, with senator Uther Pendragon standing right before it, thus placing himself in the exact center of the room. As they entered, the senator raised his glass to greet them. Beside him, in a stiff suit, was Gwen's father Tom, who managed a wave. Merlin had never seen him in anything besides ratty jeans, and his discomfort was nearly palpable. Tom looked as as if he couldn't precisely say how he came to be sitting in senator Pendragon's house and sharing a drink with him, and – if given the opportunity – would have fled, taking his daughter with him. Except Tom always wanted Gwen to have the best, and had worked his ass off to help send her through medical school. Still, the challenge of making nice with the senator appeared to look more daunting to Tom than all those years of making ends meet.

Merlin's gaze didn't linger on Uther and Tom for long – only as long as it took for Merlin to cross the threshold and glimpse the full expanse of the room. At the other end of the room, chairs and couches clustered about a hearth with an ornate mantelpiece. It was from this direction that he felt another set of eyes on him. He sought the owner of those eyes. He had to. He almost felt compelled to do it, to prove to himself he could, to test his courage, and prove that he was not cowed. That he was not ashamed. And, maybe most of all, that even with Arthur's scentmark on his skin, Arthur could force no command over him.

Arthur stood beside a window, a drink in his hand, the sun pouring in behind him and lighting him up like a golden-haired sun god. But, for all that Arthur himself looked gorgeous, it was he whose expression rapidly shifted from forced disinterest to enraptured astonishment. His gaze fixed on Merlin; raked him up and down with such heat that Merlin wondered it didn't scorch his fine clothes. The look made Merlin's skin pinch with gooseflesh, and a little thrill tiptoe across his scalp. Gwaine's cartoonish approval was a hollow mockery compared to look Arthur licked him with. Merlin had never been the object of such a burst of wanton yearning, never felt someone else's want travel over his skin like a sultry exhale. It made him draw a sharp breath, made him look in turn at the smart figure in the tailored suit and the studied elegance of Arthur trying to hard to be at ease when he'd probably rather be slouching around a sport's field.

Then Arthur met Merlin's eyes. It was unguarded in the first moments, and Merlin saw unabashed hunger mixed with an unexpected softness to form a fond desire. It was more than raw sex, but something unadept, vulnerable and intimate. Then there was a pulse of pride rippling through his eyes. Merlin was sure that was what it was. Arthur was proud of him.

Some here-to unused corner of Merlin's brain took over his body, perversely bolstered by the praise, delighted that after all this Arthur still wanted him. Usually he never knew what to do with his arms and legs, and if he'd been asked to 'look sexy' he probably would have managed something akin to a crane with polio. Under that look, however? He just seemed to know how to lengthen his spine and adjust his stance to show off the neat, lean, lines of the suit, showing off the tiniest bit .

Arthur's fingers jerked around the glass he was holding. It was small, but Merlin caught it. In the same manner, Arthur must have caught the half second of gratification that flexed across Merlin's mouth.

Seemingly without thinking, Arthur took a step forward.

In the space of a moment remembrances of why Merlin couldn't just hop into Arthur's arms cut through the ego, bubbled to the brim of Merlin's brain like ebullient carbonation and he drew back half a step.

A striking kind of pain flickered through Arthur's eyes at the immediacy of the response. He stepped back at once.

Merlin felt a vicious spurt of victory. He savored the vindictive rush that Arthur thought he was sexy as hell, but couldn't touch him, and felt horribly about why he couldn't touch him. However, it didn't last long. Only a few seconds, really. Then Merlin felt petty, and a little sad atop the punitive anger, frustrated regret and the tiny dogged fragment of caution. He'd been anxious that he'd take one look at Arthur and become a gibbering mess, that the sight of him would dredge up a wellspring of memories Merlin would prefer not to relive, and render him insensible. Thankfully it had not. Instead the sight of Arthur gave victory to the dark horse of the myriad of possibilities; wanting to knee Arthur in the balls and say 'I'm hot and you suck, neener neener neener!...Want to go for coffee?'.

He was a little afraid, just not overwhelmingly so, and not solely of Arthur. Oh, it was scary enough that he instinctively reached out to touch Gwaine's elbow, but the rest of it was for the feeling that followed on the heels of his anger; the desire to forgive.

Thankfully, the pettiness welled back up. What was he, a mouse? The weak breeder Uther thought he was? No! So he pulled his anger back around him.

Gwaine shifted in automatic response almost immediately after Merlin made contact. He edged slightly in front of Merlin, so Merlin felt Gwaine's heat all along his side, caught a good strong whiff of his alpha scent mixed with cologne, and, more importantly, felt the direct connection between him and Arthur slacken.

Arthur tore his gaze from Merlin's face to where his fingers met Gwaine's arm. Arthur actually went pale, eyes shooting back to Merlin's for a single rending moment before he visibly composed himself. Again, he ripped his eyes away, and pinned them on the others and welcomed them in tones that Merlin could tell were strained, even if everyone else seemed oblivious to the fact that Arthur had been well wounded that his truemate looked to a different alpha for protection.

Merlin forced himself to look away. He had to put it away. He couldn't get through the afternoon if he was continuously thinking about smashing Arthur's face into a cake, screaming at him, then kneeing him in the jewels. There might not even **_be_** cake, but Merlin found the image of Arthur covered in icing on the ground cradling his balls intensely satisfying, even if a more likely end to the scenario was not Merlin cackling with triumphant disdain or spouting off a witty one-liner, but running away in tears, or, worse, even comforting Arthur while in tears. He might not be gibbering, but anger had a nasty habit of dissolving into tears if you weren't careful, and he wanted to stay angry at Arthur.

Leon headed behind the bar and asked the room at large. “Would anyone else like a drink before the champagne flows?”

Gwaine bumped Merlin slightly nearer to Freya, then took the initiative and ambled over to the bar, leaning up on the opposite side of the senator. “Have you got a bit of whiskey?”

“You must be Dr. Green,” Uther said, his smile replete with the polite interest Merlin had seen in a dozen or more photos along the campaign trail.

“Guilty as charged. Call me Gwaine.” Gwaine took his hand and shook.

Gwen came forward to hug her dad, with Lance behind her to greet him. Merlin trailed behind with Freya, who had done an admirable job of hiding her flask somewhere under her dress. She waved off any drink, and so did Merlin when Leon raised his brows at them. Neither of them went as deep into the room as the others, only to the furthest edge of the bar.

There were greetings all around, laughter, a buzz of conversation as people got to know each other, or renewed acquaintance.

In a few moments, Merlin found himself being presented to Uther Pendragon by Lance at the tail end of introductions. He mutely offered every prayer to any deity who was willing to take a stance against the Irony Gods that so enjoyed tormenting him that his cocktail of deodorant, cologne and hormones supported the fiction of a beta of no particular interest whom Arthur would never bother to scentmark.

“senator,” Merlin said, managing a smile around his dry mouth. He didn't look down, and offered his hand.

“Professor Emrys, isn't it?” Uther said and Merlin was sure it was his imagination that Uther's eyes went calculating as they shook.

“Yes.” Merlin retracted his hand, obscenely grateful when Gwaine appeared at his side and pressed a glass into his hand and leaned beside Merlin to sip his whiskey.

“I've been hearing a deal about you lately,” Uther said. “I'm friends with Olaf Thorpe. A recent study of yours brought the college some media attention, I believe.”

“It did generate some interest.” Merlin decided remaining noncommittal was best and busied himself with sampling from the glass. The moment before the liquid hit his lips, he realized he should have checked. But no, just water. Bless Gwaine.

“Indeed,” Uther agreed. He sipped from his tumbler, but his eyes were on Merlin.

“It's a very interesting collection of data, Sir,” Lance said.

“You've read it?” Uther asked.

Lance nodded. “It's a survey of people who use sexugender suppressants, and their reasons. It's very insightful.”

Uther smiled. “Well, considering my personal stance on blockers, I think I best not comment, though I am sure it is a most well-researched project.”

“Father,” Arthur's voice rang out. Merlin didn't dare look him again, not while he was so close to Uther. “The guests have begun to arrive.”

That distracted Uther. He put his drink down and gestured to Lance and Gwen. “Shall we sojourn to the lawn? I'm sure a great many people are eager to meet you, Dr. Smith.”

Gwen gave a nervous laugh, but she took Lance's arm, and they proceeded directly behind Uther, the rest falling into rank. Merlin brought up the rear again with Freya, and watched the back of Arthur's head, strategizing ways to avoid any further contact with him, from physical all the way to eye. And nose. Yes, he needed to remain out of smelling distance, which was good; that was also out of speaking distance.

Somehow he didn't think he had a lot of hope, but he was going to try.

The lawn smelled freshly mowed. A series of large tents had been erected atop the green carpet in the shadow of the mansion and in the general vicinity of a few enormous old trees. Many of the assorted vans and delivery vehicles had gone, and instead uniformed waitstaff were loading trays with nibbles and waited at attention behind tables. A quartet was warming up under a gazebo.

A few trickling guests were wending their way on foot from the drive and others were hitching a lift on a fancy little golf cart driven by another khaki-wearing peon. They all seemed to be aiming at senator Pendragon, who had led his little trail of ducklings to the biggest of the tents and stationed himself at the entrance. Arthur had taken up position beside him, and then Lance and Gwen, all relevant parties in descending order of importance so the guests could meet them in what Merlin recognized as an old fashioned Reception of Precedence.

The senator's smile was back in place as the first of the guests approached him. Merlin watched carefully. It was subtle, but the observant eye could figure out what standing the guest had by the way Uther behaved. He always smiled of course, and shook hands in the dominant position, but perhaps that was expected, this being his turf, and all these guests valued in some way or another. More interesting were little things; he did not touch any of the attached omegas, preferring to speak to the alphas they were accompanied by until some sign was given by the spouse that Uther could address zer omega. Occasionally, an alpha would try to maneuver Uther's hand into the submissive position, or even grip with more force than was necessary. Uther asserted his dominance each time, and none of the alphas repeated the performance with Arthur. Uther's encounters with betas were perfunctory, and more often than not he would direct their attention to Arthur, and let him handle them while Uther moved on to the next alpha. After Arthur, the guests would move to Gwen and Lance, with Freya and Leon flanking them in the traditional positions of pack chaperones.

It took Merlin a moment to realize that everyone was going through Uther first. Every single one greeted and paid their respects before they drifted off to find table space or refreshments.

Gwaine finally spoke from beside him. “Jaysus, look at the hat on that one. Bunch of posh toffs think they're at Ascot.” He shook his head, then turned towards the food. “...I wonder if there's any of those mini quiches?”

Ascot, no, but it was certainly a scene that would have been commonplace before the second world war, and not after. Fascinating.

To avoid being the weird staring academic, Merlin trailed after Gwaine to investigate the food situation. The refreshment tent was actually air cooled, and Merlin could almost hear his mother's voice about letting the cold air out, since the tent flaps on the entrance were affixed open. But, it offered a more covert vantage point for Merlin to watch the parade of incomers going down the line in the reception tent. Gwen's smile was only slightly nervous around the edges as she shook hands with assorted well-heeled guests, some of whom looked pleased to see her, and others of which leveled probing looks at her. Sometimes Gwen smiled genuinely, but Lance seemed to be an old hand at small talk, which was evident whenever he swooped in and saved Gwen from an awkward moment.

The guests made their introductions down the reception line, then cycled on to mingle in the larger pool, talking with other familiar faces, and meeting those who weren't. They accepted flutes of champagne from passing waiters, and formed little clusters. Merlin could tell which ones were discussing Gwen: they cast looks towards her as she clasped hands and made recycled small talk. So far, he didn't see anyone looking revolted or murderous, or any snotty looking socialites who might or might not have propensities to start cat fights in bathrooms.

Freya seemed to know a few of the guests. They stopped to exchange words with her more often than with Leon, who got a lot of respectful nods, but not much conversation.

Try as he might, though, Merlin couldn't keep his eyes from Arthur for long.

Under the cover of the party Merlin allowed himself a proper look at him, one free of their heated emotions clashing.

Arthur stood in the position second to Uther, but also a few feet down, giving the senator a nice superior bubble. Lance and Gwen were closer to Arthur than Arthur was to Uther. Merlin wondered if the discrepancy in distances was standard, or some statement of fondness on Arthur's part. It was all part of some delicate system of power he didn't know the niceties of, and one Arthur balanced effortlessly. He was holding a glass, though he didn't drink. His suit was impeccable;: pale gray, the tie a light blue. His hair perfectly styled, Arthur was every inch the well coiffed crush of Merlin's adolescence. It was still surreal seeing him in the flesh, particularly in this moment, which was Arthur in his native environment. He was smiling and greeting and chatting, the kind of thing Merlin had seen him do in dozens of photos and video clips. This was the heavily publicized Arthur, who was somehow a different beast than the one who slept on Merlin's couch and played monopoly as if real money were on the line.

Except … it wasn't that he looked sullen. On the contrary, he looked only too pleased to be there, introducing the intended mate of one of his demi-betas. But there was something. Merlin was probably imagining that Arthur seemed much less preferential on the basis of sexugender than his father, but he could see when Arthur did or did not like someone he was addressing. Merlin could just tell by subtle hitches of the mouth and positions of the fingers whom Arthur was not so fond of, a stiffness about the arms when someone said something that annoyed him. He was pinched, just around the edges, tight and restrained underneath a sheen of affability and decorum. . This was just as unpleasant for him as it was for Gwen.

No one else seemed any the wiser, though.

It annoyed Merlin, this acumen. He seemed to exclusively possess the ability to see through Public!Arthur, down to something essential. How was it that no one else was bothering to look? And why did he have to see it, and not the members of Arthur's pack, who undoubtedly knew him better?

Merlin added that bit of unfairness to his anger. He turned his gaze away from Arthur, and to the growing party.

He recognized only a few of the figures littering the lawn, and then only through their close association with the senator, or with Olaf Thorpe. The remainder of the faces were a mystery, though they largely adhered to type; well dressed, blandly genial and distressingly uniform.

Their sexugender remained a dominant aspect to the benign exchanges of the gathering. It shouldn't have been surprising, considering how seriously they'd taken the Reception of Precedence, but still, there was something jarring and out-of-time about seeing the little things: Alphas leading their omegas around with hands on the back of the neck in a blunt statement of control, and many of those necks were wrapped in what society politely called 'chokers'. Oh, they had jewels, and were made of precious metal but they weren't mere necklaces. No, they were collars.

Alphas made up the bulk of the guests. There were a few high profile betas and their spouses among them, but mostly the beta scents came from the staff, the Personal Assistants and other betas there more as accessories to their alpha employers than as guests in their own right.

There was a lot to smell, too. Here, people wore their own scents, and the scentmarks of those even loftier than them with pride. Alphas marked their omegas, their underlings, so under the tide of the visual was the scent map connecting webs of people together.

Some omegas fetched and carried food and drink for their alphas, others clustered together and obviously had Gwen as the topic of their hushed words. Merlin wished he were closer to hear what one particular group dominated by an older female were saying.

“And here the intrepid sociologist observes the foreign society of his soon-to-be-pack-in-laws and wonders when someone will remember that omegas won the right to vote almost a century ago,” a hushed Irish-tinged voice said.

Merlin turned and found Gwaine with his phone in one hand, evidently filming; and a plate in the other piled with assorted finger foods. Merlin made a muffled noise of mixed amusement and irritation.

Gwaine continued, “Tell us, Doctor, what do you make of the strange practices of the natives, then?”

Merlin raised a brow at him. “Really?”

“Yer going t' spoil the take!” Gwaine stage whispered, then resumed his narrator's voice, panning the camera over the people, “The pack and their allies have gathered to pass judgment on the prospective bride of the Lieutenant, and on grounds hallowed for just that purpose.”

Merlin couldn't resist. He pitched his voice softly, as if he were indeed a scientist in a hide, watching the behavior of wild animals, “Once scent would have been used, but the pack has long since developed a more accurate method of gauging worth; whether or not the Prospective Mate is wearing Prada.”

Gwaine stifled a snort. By now he'd set his plate down, and was devoting all his attention to his phone. He tilted his head to the very group of omegas Merlin had been eying.

It was all Merlin needed. “Here are the pack matrons; superiority is decided by capacity to emotionally and psychologically undermine others of their sexugender with phrases designed to sound like compliments, the volume of Prada owned, and, of course, by the size and volume of pebbles brought to them by their spouses, which they use as adornments after rubbing themselves with a mud that best matches their skin tone.

“They are unsure of Prospective Mate; those shoes are certainly not Prada. If the Prospective Mate is not bringing good taste or a dowry to the match, what is ze bringing, and what is a mating if not a method to consolidate wealth and power? What was wrong with all the potential mates from their sororities they introduced the Lieutenant to? They wore Prada. But it won't do to be seen being hostile to the Potential Mate; there is a possibility she can be forced into Prada.”

From there, they moved on to some alphas swirling glasses of scotch (“The dominants of the pack swill a fermented drink and comment on the oakiness. Nobody actually knows what that tastes like, but being able to make the comment with a straight face implies inclusion to the group. While the presence of Prada does factor into their assessment of Potential Mate, they are more concerned with attractiveness and whether they might have a shot at her at some later date”), some assistants worrying at their phones on the fringes (“The lowzer in the hierarchy spend all available time taking care of most important aspects of their superiors' lives, so the superiors have time to ponder the presence of Prada and the likelihood of infidelity”), and assorted other moments from a caste they weren't familiar with.

They lingered in the tent watching for a longer undisturbed reprieve than Merlin would have thought possible. Then again, Uther, Arthur, Lance, Gwen, Freya and Leon were all confined to the reception line, and the other guests didn't seem at all ready to leave their respective cliques. The peace and sarcasm lightened Merlin's mood considerably until Gwaine, in panning for their next target, elbowed Merlin to turn around.

There were Olaf and Uther shaking hands in the reception line, with Vivian beside them.

“Oh goody,” Merlin said dryly.

“Bugger if that doesn't make things a bit awkward,” Gwaine muttered.

Uther and Olaf were all smiles. Uther kissed Vivian's hand, and then said something to Arthur, handing Vivian's hand off to him. Arthur was less than pleased, but, as before, Merlin appeared to be the only one who noted that his smile had a sharp edge to it. He appeared to greet Vivian and Olaf with perfect geniality. Still, Merlin couldn't escape the impression that Arthur was not feeling particularly warm towards them.

Then Arthur's eyes flicked over Vivian's shoulder and right at Merlin. Merlin's heart gave a stutter, but in a sudden mad moment he knew he couldn't look away. That would be cowardly. So he stared back.

After a second Gwaine's voice chimed in. “But mating in the pack is not always easy; here, a rebuffed alpha stares longingly at his preferred omega. Courting went awry and – ”

“Knock it off,” Merlin said, all levity gone. He turned away, cowardly or not, and covered Gwaine's phone with a hand. He didn't want a video record of this.

“I only meant it as a lark,” Gwaine said softly.

“I know. But just because I can be in the same space as him without trying to shiv him with a broken bottle doesn't mean I want to talk about it.”

“And I'm here to be sure he keeps his distance, so you won't have to,” Gwaine said, though it sounded slightly dark. Surprisingly so. It drew Merlin's eye to Gwaine, who was staring back at Arthur. Arthur watched Gwaine evenly, but flicked his gaze to Merlin the moment he felt him looking.

“I don't think Pendragons do scenes,” Merlin said, and turned his back on Arthur again. He liked having Gwaine as a buffer, but he didn't need Gwaine to defend his honor publicly. Not that Gwaine would be averse to a fist-fight, but Merlin suspected this was not the preferred atmosphere, and he wasn't 100% sure Gwaine would win.

“I don't think what's gone between you and Arthur is anything the Pendragons 'do', but that hasn't stopped it from happening, has it?” Gwaine picked up his plate. The food must have been cold, but he still popped a stuffed mushroom in his mouth.

Merlin had no answer for him.

It was more than a half an hour after the party had started that the Reception of Precedence concluded. With no one else in line to greet them, Uther gave them a nod, and the line dissolved into more standard mingling. Well, theoretically. Lance and Gwen were still stuck in Uther's orbit, with Arthur not too far off, speaking to a cluster adjacent to the one Uther was holding court over, and Leon was at Arthur's elbow.

Peace came to an end when Leon detached from Arthur, scanned the crowd and them came right towards them.

“Incoming,” Gwaine warned.

“I see him. I think we have to make a polite showing of ourselves,” Merlin rolled his shoulders, mentally preparing himself.

Leon fetched Merlin and Gwaine and led them to the group surrounding the key party guests. Someone gave him a flute of champagne, but he didn't drink it. They were introduced to Uther's brother-in-law, the other demi-alpha of Pack Pendragon, Tristan DuBois, Uther's friend; Judge Godwyn Williams, and a few faces Merlin recognized from Uther's political circle, and a few distant relations. There was also Gaius Wilson, a doctor, who was one of the few who bore Uther's scentmark. Merlin suspected he was the doctor from Morgana's tale, which was a pity, as he rather liked the man at his first impression.

Then there was Mithian.

Merlin didn't know when she'd arrived, but there she stood beside Arthur, wearing a dress of pastel yellows in impressionistic swipes and a big white hat with bows and floral sprays which did indeed look worthy of Ascot. Or a June Allyson musical. She was smiling, big and bright. That is, until she saw Merlin chatting with Gaius. Then the smile melted off her face in a comically slow pantomime. She shot a wide eyed look at Arthur, but Arthur didn't appear to be paying her or Merlin any notice. In a flash, her inner actress took the reins. Not only did she look perky and unperturbed once again, but, as Leon introduced her, apparently unaware that Merlin had met her before, she even thought of pointed blocking for the scene. In a casual motion, she slipped her arm through Arthur's, letting her fingers rest atop his wrist possessively.

Merlin forced himself to smile, even if he was less than enthused to be this close to Arthur and obliged to be polite to the person in third place on his People I Want To Kick In The Junk list. Who, ironically, was trying to prove she had ownership of the guy occupying the number one slot in the rankings.

But, as he blathered out some nice-to-meet-you nonsense, something unexpected happened. In an elegantly subtle movement, Arthur shifted and abandoned Mithian's hand under the guise of exchanging champagne flutes. However, his glass was only half empty, and he didn't touch the newly acquired one. In the process he'd also shifted over, and began speaking to his uncle.

Mithian recovered gracefully but her displeasure was glimpsed for a fraction of a second before she managed to affix a pleased expression over it.

What the hell was that?

He didn't get to contemplate it for long.

“It must be taxing having a job that requires you to probe for so much intimate information. It's like being a gossip full time, isn't it?” Mithian said sympathetically. She carried on before Merlin could get a word in. “It's a good thing we don't use those metal punishment masks the medieval people used for public humiliation, isn't it?” She laughed at her own joke, the perfect performance of a lovely conversation among friends.

Merlin shrugged, but couldn't resist a snide return. Mithian was certainly not a pack matron, as her comment did an excessively poor job of hiding the razor blades hidden among the words. “No harder a job than faking feelings in front of other people, and at least I always know when I'm working and when I'm not.” He took the first sip of his drink with a lofty ease he didn't feel.  
Mithian's eyes glittered. “A performer gives, Mr. Emrys. A researcher takes. It's a very selfish job.”

“Better to take and use honestly, than to give something untrue,” Merlin shot back.

Lance suddenly appeared at Mithian's elbow. “Leave it,” he requested her softly, ducking his head under the white hat to keep his words between them. His eyes darted to Merlin apologetically.

Mithian looked up at Lance. “You're not my alpha,” she reminded him softly, then gave a little sight. “But, perhaps you're right. I'm sorry, professor, I seem to be letting other matters infringe on my manners.”

It sounded and looked sincere, but Merlin didn't know what to believe. He was saved from answering when Gwen neatly interceded, drawing Merlin away. She brought him to the clutch of people who were Uther adjacent. He went through another round of introductions, this time with people connected to Lance. He smiled and made nice, slightly more comfortable with the Du Lac relations, as Merlin was sure they were equally discomfited being on the hallowed Pendragon lawn.

Creeping away took time, but eventually he managed to escape back to the tent of refreshments, leaving the mostly full flute on a table. He wasn't hungry, but being so close to Uther and Arthur was awkward, particularly when the breeze shifted, putting them upwind. He'd been on the verge of fidgeting. He didn't actually have to eat any of the food, but a plate would give him a prop to occupy his hands.

He got into the line for the buffet behind an old omega in a pink pantsuit and discreetly checked the location of all the key players and people he wanted to avoid. If any of them got hungry, his pretend appetite was going to evaporate, and suddenly he was going to need a bathroom.

There was a bit of a clatter ahead, and Merlin saw the woman was fumbling to hold two plates and the tongs.

“Let me help,” he said, returning his unused plate to the stack. He took hold of the two plates and let her handle the serving utensil.

“Oh thank you; it's just that I don't like it when the hot food touches the cold food, so I have to have two plates to make sure they don't mix. Who wants their lovely arugula salad drowned in that mushroom juice? No one, that's who. My alpha husband says I complain too much, but I maintain that at my age, those calories count, so I ought to have them the way I like them,” she explained as she picked up stuffed mushrooms one at a time.

“Sounds pretty reasonable,” Merlin chuckled. They moved on down the line, so she could put something wrapped in phyllo pastry on the warm plate, and tiny deviled quail eggs on other. He shuffled along with her as she chatted about the food on offer and her relative likes and dislikes about it and whether or not this catering company was up to snuff. When they got to the end of the buffet table, she admired the three foot high croquembouche on its own table. The tower of profiteroles was decorated with spun sugar in a crisp amber cloud and a spiral band of white and purple orchids. At the bottom it was encircled with dainty swan-shaped cream puffs. It was a work of art.

“I wonder when we'll get to eat that? I have my eye on one of those swans,” said the omega.

“Pretty soon, I think.” Merlin gestured towards the few tables located inside the air conditioned refreshment tent. “Where do you want to sit?”

“Oh, outside. I want to see everything! Thank you. It really should be one of those waiters' jobs, but they seem to be everywhere else when you need them, don't they?” She led Merlin outside and arranged herself into a chair at a shady table with a good view of the party. Merlin set down her plates.

“There now,” she said. “Thank you. I don't think I know you, are you a friend of Guinevere’s?”

“Yes, Professor Merlin Emrys,” Merlin said, offering a hand.

She took a hold of the tips of his fingers. “Hello dear, I'm Bettina Pendragon, I'm Uther's great aunt, and Arthur's great great aunt. Now, it seems I've met everyone except your pack alpha, would you mind pointing zer out?” She looked around curiously.

“We don't have one,” Merlin said to her eager upturned face. He said it gently, as she was old enough to remember when life absolutely required an alpha.

She blinked at him, apparently uncomprehending for a moment. “But of course you must. Oh, unless, are you one of those new-fangled packs with a grand master instead?”

Well, nothing to be done but be blunt. “No, we haven't got a grand anything.”

“But you simply must have, to register,” Bettina insisted.

“We're not a registered pack,” Merlin spelled out, carefully and clearly, but also unapologetic, even as he was stomping on dear Bettina's expectations. “We're just friends, no APR, no alpha, no grand master.”

Something in her expression shuttered closed. “Oh, my. I see. Oh, my.” She looked past him. Merlin followed her eye-line to where Gwen stood with Lance, holding his arm and smiling as they chatted. Not a lick of fear on her face. Merlin felt a flash of pride in Gwen. She'd held up well.

Auntie Bettina, though, was clearly having reservations as she beheld pack-less Gwen. Then she looked down at her food and paid Merlin no further attention.

Oddly, Merlin felt a laugh bloom in his chest. He didn't let it become anything more, but it bubbled like the champagne being passed around. It was so _stupid_. What did it matter when it came down to it? Pack or not, what did it matter, except in snotty little pockets like this? Everyone else would have been pleased a doctor and a lawyer were getting hitched. And yet, here they were, thinking Lance was lowering himself to wed Gwen.

And what would Bettina think of Arthur taking a pack-less, educated heathen to mate? Lance was one thing, only a beta, and, while Merlin got the sense none of them would say it in Arthur's hearing, Lance's lack of money and a 'respectable' lineage had him branded as low class and therefore not beholden to the same standards as, say, Arthur. Lance had been elevated by association with them, but he wasn't an equal, and without similar patronage to recommend her, Gwen was unsuitable even for him, in some eyes.

They'd all shit kittens if Merlin appeared on Arthur's arm, not just because he'd mated Arthur, but because with Arthur as heir apparent, Merlin would some day be Pendragon pack _Cweness_ , and they would owe him fealty and respect, under their own asinine rules.

Many of them would probably have preferred chewing their own limbs off than having to obey an upstart low-bred, no-class bastard cweness.

Merlin was massively relieved this party wasn't for him. Then his brain couldn't help but imagine what it would be like if it had been, and he felt a little ill.

Merlin excused himself from Bettina, lest he give her pack-less cooties, and sought Gwaine. He spotted a distinctive head of hair and trotted to where Gwaine was flirting with the attendant at the bar. At least Merlin was hoping that was what all that suggestive fork-licking was about.

“Hang on a mo', Jessica. Oh, could you be a lamb and make Merlin here some ice water?” Gwaine said and turned his attention to Merlin. “Have you tried these bacony date things? Here.” Gwaine picked one off his plate and handed it to Merlin.

Merlin eyed it, but popped it in his mouth. It was good. A date wrapped with bacon and stuffed with some kind of cheese.

“What's afoot, then?” Gwaine asked Merlin.

“How much longer?” Merlin said around his date.

Gwaine lifted a wrist and checked his watch. “It's only been an hour.”

Merlin groaned.

“I'd say another few hours were called for, at least.” Gwaine sounded sympathetic, but it was of little consolation. He grinned at Jessica when she gave him an icy glass of water, then handed it to Merlin.

“I've just outed our non-pack status to Auntie Bettina there. She wasn't happy,” Merlin said, after sipping the water.

“Don't fret, at least six people have come up to me wanting to pay respects to the alpha and find out just exactly what our pack name was. Phones out and everything so they could instantly look up our standing on the APR website. We've dealt them quite a blow, it seems. Usually I have to be pissed and naked to make such an impact.” Now Gwaine handed him a stuffed mushroom.

This was very true. Conventions of class that people sometimes mistakenly thought had died were still secure in arenas like these. It didn't matter that Merlin, Gwaine, and Gwen were respected PhDs, were published and that they knew precisely how to behave in polite company. It didn't matter that Gwen was glorious and sweet and so very in love with Lance. What mattered was whether or not they were a pack of standing, or a pack at all. It was so archaic, so, so, so annoyingly stupid!

Merlin sighed and ate the mushroom, then the little meatball on the toothpick Gwaine handed him, without really tasting any of it.

Freya approached, and trotted to stand behind Merlin.

“Don't move,” she said. There was some rustling. Merlin tried to turn to look, but her hand popped up and pressed against his cheek, making him turn away. Then Merlin heard the sound of the flask being unscrewed.

“Where was that, anyway?” he asked, “And shouldn't you do that behind Gwaine? He's bulkier.”

“Oi!” Gwaine said.

“He'll want some,” Freya said on a pregnant inhale after swallowing hastily.

“Oi! … What is it?”

“Vodka,” Merlin said.

“There is an entire open bar over there, and of the good stuff,” Gwaine pointed out to Freya, who was rustling again. A moment later she appeared, flask not in sight, and went to investigate the bar situation.

She came back empty handed. “No whipped cream vodka. I'll stick with my stash. I'd forgotten how boring these things are.”

“You looked as if you were getting along with the toffs well enough,” Gwaine pointed out.

Freya shrugged. “I have to. If I ignore one person, ze calls my mom and then she calls me and cries about where she went wrong in raising me and why I was ignoring so-and-so, don't I know they have an eligible alpha? It easier to kiss everyone's ass.”

Merlin reflected on his own mother, who, he suspected, was still celebrating the victory of getting him out of the house in semi-matching clothes. And Merlin never had to worry about his mother's friends calling her up to complain about some mild social slight he made.

It occurred to him in a sudden burst; all these people were looking at Gwen, trying to fit her into their lives from here-on out. They were figuring out if they _had_ to invite her to their baby showers, how she was going to be helpful with the annual charity function, if she was going to insist on continuing to work, and who was going to show her acceptable homes for sale in the right neighborhoods. This wasn't one day to white-knuckle through. This was a permanent change.

“How often are we going to have to do this?” Merlin asked, watching an omega with large fake breasts coo over his spouse when he brought over a fresh drink.

“What do you mean?” Merlin felt Gwaine turn toward him. “I thought this was a one time deal?”

“Most extended packs? Holidays, special occasions, celebrations,” Freya said.

“I'm not spending bloody Christmas here,” Gwaine said.

“But is Gwen going to have to?” Merlin glanced at Freya.

Freya shrugged. “Depends.”

Merlin let out a dry chuckle. His eyes sought Arthur. It took him a moment, as Arthur wasn't where he last placed him; he was by the bar now, in some serious conversation with a very tall man. Merlin only had eyes for the blond, who rubbed his jaw and laid the pad of his thumb over his lips. It was one of Arthur's agitated tells, so whatever the exchange included, it did not sit well with Arthur.

“I'm not getting away from you, am I?” Merlin murmured softly to himself. Well, not without abandoning Gwen to the wolves.

Could he do that?

“What was that?” Gwaine asked.

“Nothing.” Merlin turned and found Olaf on the approach. He affixed a pleasant smile in place while groaning internally.

“Well, Professors Green, Emrys and Bast. I had heard we now had friends in common.” He sounded jolly, but then, he usually did. Unlike Santa Claus, the convivial tone could rarely be counted on as authentic.

They all returned with greetings befitting the Albion's president.

“Well, Doctor Smith could hardly have come up with a more auspicious match than Lance. He's a fine boy.”

Merlin smiled. He'd been practicing all morning, so it was perfectly amiable even though what he wanted to do was frown at Olaf for implying that Gwen had shimmied as far up the social ladder as she could hope by snagging Lance.

“I think Lance is probably a man by now, don't you think, Gwaine?” Merlin asked in an amused voice, raising his brows at Gwaine. He was getting tired of hearing cutting things said in a kindly tone. It was about time some of these people got some of their own back.

“I've not made an inspection, but I imagine they have. Isn't that an old ritual or some such? Where the pack investigates the junk of the bride and bridegroom?” Gwaine cocked his head thoughtfully.  
Merlin nodded, “Yup, it's an old European custom for betas; the Counsel of Fertility.”

“That doesn't sound very sexy,” Freya said.

“Well, it wasn't. What would happen is that when you had two betas who wanted to mate – say, Romeo and Juliet – Romeo had to submit to an inspection by Lady Capulet and seven breeders of her choice, and Juliet to one by Lady Montague with seven breeders of her choice. They'd poke around, make sure the breeder was a virgin, and the stud could get it up. No one wanted impotent or slutty pack members.” Merlin somewhat enjoyed the taken aback expression on Olaf's face.

Freya considered this, then said, “I don't know if I could go to the gynecologist and have eight people stare down the stirrups at me. And it's weird that your future in-laws would see you naked before your spouse did.”

“There are even surviving medieval documents listing the findings of such Counsels, particularly when it didn't lead to a marriage: missing testicles, a breeder getting turned on while other breeders poked around … Oh! In the case of the Earl of –”

“Indeed, isn't history fascinating?” Olaf cut in. “Well, the world has changed, hasn't it? I just wanted to extend my greetings. With this marriage, we may be seeing a lot more of each other. And, of course, we'll need to be careful about what gets into the press, hmm? What with the Pendragons and Albion having so many links. We'll talk later. Enjoy the party.”

They watched him go.

“I'm going to regret signing on for another two years at Albion if that git is going to be breathing down our necks from here on out,” Gwaine said.

“So, intimations to watch our mouths, and inferences that we're not good enough since we're not a pack. Want to lay odds we'll hit the third in the holy trinity of Not Actually Saying We Don't Like You with some innuendo?” Merlin wanted Freya's flask. He was trying to do the right thing here! Why couldn't fate be less of a _schadenfreude_ -loving bitch?

“Only a fool would bet against it,” Gwaine said. “And here comes Leon.”

“If I have to smile at one more person who looks at me like my very presence is an offense to their ancestors, I am going to lose my shit,” Merlin warned them.

“Subtle inferences of distaste are better than looks of murder, which is probably what you'd be getting if you were being introduced to them as Arthur's betrothed,” Freya offered with evident effort to cheer him up.

Leon was nearing, so Merlin had to lower his voice to respond. “Yeah, but I'd at least get the privilege of being able to tell them to go eat a big bag of dicks, instead of having to play nice.”

Freya patted his hand. “No more alcohol for you, sweetie.” She eyeballed Gwaine's plate, then snitched a deviled egg off it.

“Ah, Merlin, Gwaine, Freya,” Leon's called. Merlin looked up to see him and the tall man who had been in conference with Arthur.

Leon gestured to the figure beside him. “I know we told you he wouldn't be here, but his plans changed suddenly. Allow me to introduce Percy.”

Merlin had heard quite a bit about Percy over the last months. He was the one member of Arthur's demi-pack that they all had yet to lay eyes on. Even Gwen in her visits up to see Lance hadn't met him, but unlike Mithian, who just _couldn't_ spare the time to meet dear sweet Lance's fiancee, _so sorry_ , whatever Percy did involved a lot of traveling and he wasn't usually in town. They had been told he was still away on business, so he was going to miss the engagement party. Merlin was rather pleased to meet the final member of Arthur's hand-picked pack.

He was not at all what Merlin was expecting. Percy towered over all of them, and if that weren't enough he was also quite muscular, and looked more like a boxer than a traveling business man. His face, however, had such a tender, gentle look about it that Merlin immediately liked him. Even his distinctive femalpha scent had a friendly, protective warmth to it.

It's nice to finally meet you, Percy.” Merlin smiled and offered a hand.

Percy did not reach out in return. In the moment Merlin noted the dissonance, he realized a tense silence had overcome them. Leon's face went from casual to surprised, and Percy's friendly expression dissolved into heated desire as he stared at – at Freya.

Merlin turned to look at her, and found Freya was in turn staring with rapt fascination at Percy, poised, the egg halfway to her mouth, nostrils quivering.

“Oh shite,” Gwaine said on a barely subdued laugh.

Merlin swiveled to look back at the object of Freya's fierce focus.

Percy was rooted to the spot, the massive bulk of him frozen in enthralled captivation. Both Percy and Freya were absorbed in each other, unblinking, the two humming as if conducting electricity between them.

Merlin wasn't alone in his engrossment; Leon and Gwaine had joined him in looking back and forth, as a crowd might follow a tennis match. The pair under scrutiny did not move an inch, only stood, stared, and smelled, the thickening of the air appearing to hamper time itself to a crawl.

The stillness fractured when Leon cleared his throat, the cracking sound prefacing his cautious “Percy?”

Then everyone was in motion. Freya and Percy lunged at each other. Percy charged, easily casting aside Leon's outstretched arm and a chair that was in his way. Freya simply dropped the deviled egg, sending it bouncing on the grass where it landed yolk down on Merlin's shoe. He jerked back. Gwaine surged forward a foot or two, but he was too late to stop Freya as she actually leaped into Percy's arms. Percy caught her, lifting her up with broad hands on her ass while her legs wrapped securely around his waist. Freya cupped his cheeks in her hands and began kissing him frantically.

There were gasps and a rippling murmur of surprise from the party guests around them when furniture was thrown around and spontaneous necking broke out. There were also a few chuckles, and Merlin caught the edge of someone saying, 'I remember when I first smelled my mate'.

Mates. Merlin's stomach flip-flopped as he looked at the intertwined bodies. Not mates. That couldn't be. Not Gwen and Lance _and_ Freya and Percy. It was impossible, wasn't it? At the very least, highly improbable, inconceivable, really.

And yet. And yet.

The smiles around them were indulgent, but even now, Merlin could see the ripple passing through the party as people became alerted to what was happening over in the refreshment tent.

“Freya?” Merlin said, approaching the embracing couple cautiously. Neither party seemed to hear. Freya's hands were stroking over Percy's cheeks as she kissed him ardently. She was so small compared to the massive femalpha she was clutching like a koala, with her skirt hiked up where she'd impulsively thrown herself at him. Thankfully Merlin, Gwaine and possibly bartender Jessica were the only ones in position to see Pinky Pie, Rainbow Dash, and Twilight Sparkle beaming excitedly at them.

“Uh, Freya?” His call was slightly more sing-song now, but there was still no response. He shot a 'so this is awkward, what do I do?' grimace at Gwaine, who looked far more amused than he had any right to be, and shrugged.

Merlin sidled forward, and ventured to gingerly take hold of the edge of Freya's skirt and tug it down just a bit so the little ponies would stop grinning at him in that unsettling way. Neither one seemed to notice.

“What do – ” Merlin started to ask Leon, except Leon was no longer there. With a nauseated premonition Merlin scanned the crowd, and, sure enough, a bright golden blond head flanked by strawberry blond curls was cutting through the crowd, making a beeline towards them. Leon had gone to fetch Arthur.

Gwaine must have followed his attention, because he mumbled something roughly, and came to stand closer to Merlin. Percy made a warning sound in his throat, undoubtedly catching the scent of a possible alpha rival, and sort of shuffled blindly half a foot away. The fevered tongue kissing continued.

Arthur entered the tent and beheld the pair with a grim expression. He shot a split-second glance at Merlin before looking back at Freya and Percy.

“How long have they been like this?” Arthur asked.

“Just now,” Gwaine answered, despite the fact that the question seemed aimed at Merlin.

“Can you do anything to break them apart?” Merlin asked, probably more brusquely than was strictly needed, but he sort of resented having to speak to Arthur at all, and also resented that Gwaine thought Merlin needed a go-between, like he couldn't handle his own shit.

Arthur shook his head. “I wouldn't get between an alpha and omega who just found each other. They'll stop in a few minutes, when the first rush is over. Right now all they can think of is each other.”

“I'm rarely the one to put the kibosh on a good snog, but do we want to shift them somewhere with fewer prying eyes?” Gwaine nodded to the people watching.

Arthur nodded. They all glanced around. There weren't that many people inside; some guests, a few waiters and catering people. Arthur went over to them, and after a moment or two of quiet murmuring, they dispersed purposefully. Food was covered, guests were helped out and the tent flaps were closed.

Arthur approached the pair. Percy didn't growl as he had with Gwaine, but his shoulders went a bit more rigid. Arthur didn't speak, but bumped his head against Percy's shoulder, and with a push against his back with a firm hand got him moving. Arthur herded Percy and Freya away from the line of plastic windows in the tent wall, closer to the shady pocket with the profiterole tower.

When Arthur stopped prompting, Percy stopped moving. In the relative privacy he cradled Freya, making pleased sounds in his throat.

“They'll come back to their senses in a few minutes,” Arthur said. “We just want to make sure it doesn't escalate.”

Which was actually a danger, considering the aroma of eager alpha and omega the couple was starting to exude copiously. The different scents of breeder slicks curled together in a strangely complementary way, like cinnamon and sugar.

Still, it was a bit risqué, and Merlin didn't think that the pair needed to be on display for quite so many people. He ventured forward again, this time to shake Freya's shoulder.

Percy gave another soft warning growl, but it was cut short when Arthur made a chastening sound in his throat that stayed any further sounds of protest from Percy immediately.

Merlin glared at Arthur. “Don't help me.”

Arthur straightened as if wanting to defend himself, but the huff went out of him and he quieted.

“Freya,” Merlin said sternly, “Freya, look at me.”

Freya detached her face from Percy and twisted around to blink at Merlin. Percy began to nuzzle her neck. It took Freya a moment, but she appeared to recognize Merlin then smiled somewhat drunkenly. Merlin doubted it was the whipped cream vodka, though. Well, not entirely.

“Merlin! When did you get here?” she asked.

“A while ago, remember?”

Freya did some thinking on that while rubbing her cheek into the top of Percy's head. Then she made a silly self mocking noise. “Oh! Duuh, of course!”

“Yeah, would you like to climb off of Percy now?” Merlin opened his hands to help her.

Freya sort of wiggled in Percy's embrace, debating. “ … No, I'm comfortable,” she decided.

“I'm sure you are, but you need to get off of him. If you do, then you can go inside and find a bed,” Merlin wheedled.

“I'm pretty sure he can carry me in, have you seen his arms?” Freya stroked the admittedly muscular arms holding her aloft. “He's like Michelangelo’s David or Bandinelli's Hercules. Or...or some other big-armed alpha.”

Percy made a sound of agreement which rumbled into something slightly saucy, and rolled his hips mimicking the motion Freya had made while debating her relative comfort. Freya responded, and they sort of writhed together in a not-quite dry hump.

Merlin closed his eyes. “Freya.” He firmed his voice, making it a command instead of a request. “Get down. Now.”

He was loath to do it, but in her hormone addled state, subtle prods were not working.

Freya made an annoyed groaning sound, and sighed hugely. Her hands slid from Percy's cheeks to his shoulders. She stroked them and said, “Better put me down, sugarplum.” She met his lips, and promptly got distracted necking again.

After a moment Arthur followed with a command of his own. “Percival. Stand down.”

Regret in every atom of their bodies, Percy lowered Freya, sliding her body against his until he nestled her down onto the grass with such care she might have been made of candy floss. She stood, a little bewildered, while Percy shifted into an at-attention stance before his alpha. Freya sighed and plodded to Merlin, where she issued a sluggish kick to his shin.

“Ouch. Are you okay?” Merlin asked, turning them aside to achieve some modicum of privacy.

“Well not _now._ ” She was throwing yearning glances over Merlin's shoulder to Percy. She wiggled her pelvis.

“Freya.” Merlin snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Focus.”

She blinked at him again, uncomprehending. Merlin huffed a breath, grabbed her hand and pulled her reluctantly out of Percy's immediate proximity and the lingering cloud of scent. He took her out of the food tent, then tugged her behind it among the tools the catering people were trying to hide, extension cords and the air conditioning unit.

“Here, get some of this in her.” Gwaine handed over the glass of water and went to steal one of the folding chairs.

Merlin made Freya sit and drink. After a few minutes in the fresh spring breeze Freya was still flushed, but her eyes looked much less glazed. Merlin forced himself not to talk while she sipped at the water, expression distant. There were lots of things for her to chew over, and he didn't want to disturb her while she ruminated on the last few minutes.

When she looked at him properly, he smiled and asked, “Better?”

Freya nodded. “Wow, was that what it was like smelling Arthur for the first time?” she was clutching the glass, voice a little stunned. Merlin gave an alarmed glance around, but no one appeared to be near enough to hear. The entire party was well aware there was a situation, though their response was more amused than anything else, which, upon reflection, Merlin decided was for the best.

“Sorry,” Freya made a fluttering gesture when she realized she'd spoken out of turn, and flicked a worried glance at Gwaine. Merlin's eyes followed.

Gwaine raised a sardonic brow. “I've eyes, haven't I?”

“Euh,” was all Merlin could manage, which was equal parts apology, confession and awkwardness. Gwaine chuckled.

Freya saved him from actually having to answer by saying, “But, Percy's mine, you know? I've never smelled anyone like him. It's like Christmas and fresh canvases and orgasms all rolled into one, with sprinkles on top and I want to smell it forever and ever.”

“I know,” Merlin assured her, squatting down in front of her to remove the now empty glass and take her hands. As much as he would have preferred to forget it, he remembered smelling Arthur the first time with obscene clarity. The rush, the wonder, the arousal. The terror …

And then Arthur had opened his mouth.

Sometimes Merlin wondered what he would have done if Arthur had been charming and gentlemanly on that first meeting. If, while stumbling around in that aroused high he had been confronted with Arthur Pendragon, dreamboat, if he would still have denied himself. If, with a nose full of truemate, and swooning with the ridiculous fiction- _cum_ -reality that his teenage crush was all his, Merlin would have been able to withstand the desire to let go, and just let Arthur haul him off, have his way with him. Sure, he would have regretted such a rash decision later, particularly when Arthur tried to plant him here in Pendragon Manor, but since it had all ended in regret anyway, there was something to be said for having had four days of sweaty sex and sweet nothings murmured into his ear. For some suspended moments of sweetness.

Granted, he would have been having sex with a fantasy, and Arthur with a stranger, so what would have been satiated was the physical draw. As much as teenage him wanted fantasy Arthur, full-grown Merlin was much more interested in the real man, and not just the sex part. Merlin enjoyed their banter. It pleased him that Arthur had struggled against childhood ingrained prejudices to treat him like an equal. He especially liked how Arthur tried, even if he wasn't always succeeding.

He was less fond of more recent decisions on Arthur's part.

But he still wondered. He still wondered what would have happened if Arthur had laid eyes on him and simply wanted him, without immediately knowing who and what he was, where they would be now.

If Freya and Percy would have met and jumped each other sooner.

“I just want you to have a clear head about this, to make sure you know what you're doing,” Merlin said, then smiled crookedly and quoted teasingly, “'This is your reality check!'” in a deep voice.

It was a line from a campaign used in High School Sex and Pack Education Class; the RC4M, Reality Check 4 Mates. It was funny that it hadn't occurred to him during his own predicament, but standing outside the process for another omega, all he could think of was the silly and so very 90's music video where B-list celebrities in too much neon tried valiantly to pump life into the catch phrase, and thus help kids not get mated at 13.

Freya seemed to take it to heart though. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Merlin breathed with her, it seemed the thing to do to help steady her. They did nothing but breathe the smells of grass, finger food and champagne for a solid two minutes before Freya's eyes popped open.

“Better?” Merlin asked.

Freya nodded.

“More clear-headed?” Merlin specified.

“Yes.” Freya nodded again. “I want to fuck him stupid.” She sounded very sure. “Now.”

Merlin braced automatically, prepared should he need to grab her to prevent her from tackling Percy and commencing a public consummation. She'd be mad now, but Merlin was almost certain she'd rather not be semi-naked in front of all these people; particularly the ones who were friends with her parents and would be able to give them blow-by-blow description.

Freya rolled her eyes at him. “I'm not going to, I'm just clear about what I want. But I also know it's the worst timing in the universe.” Her look was briefly sympathetic.

“Let's handle one thing at a time,” Merlin said. It was all he had room for, at this point.

“Well, if it comforts anyone, I'm not feeling romantically inclined toward that Mithian bird,” Gwaine chimed in.

“What about Leon?” Freya said.

“I'd not kick him out of my bed.”

“Is there anyone you would kick out of your bed?” Merlin asked, more for the distraction than actual curiosity.

“Of course. I'll have you know I've rigorous standards.”

“I have to go to him,” Freya blurted as she drew Merlin's hands up closer to her face, her eyes finding his. “Just to talk. I don't know anything about him, besides his name, and how incredibly sexy he smells.”

“You just want to talk? Are you sure?” Merlin clarified, trying so hard to keep the tone neutral. If Freya did want to mate Percy with a vengeance, he really had no right to tell her yea or nay. Well, other than making sure she did it away from the audience. And if that was what she wanted, Merlin didn't want her loyalty to him standing in the way of her potential happiness. She had gone to Spring Run to find a mate, hadn't she?

Freya swallowed and nodded. “Just talk. Don't let me do something foolish,” she implored softly.

“I won't,” Merlin said.

“I might lose my head when I smell him again. Let me kiss him, and hold him and anything else, but don't let me mate him. If I mated him – it would make things so much more complicated than they already are, and I couldn't bear it, not now. Not if – ”

“Freya, if you want him – ” Merlin started, but Freya shook her head, then winced.

She said, “I do … and I don't … and it's all just so much. But I want to talk to him, first. I don't want to mate a stranger. But only talk. Promise me, Merlin?”

“Gwaine and I will make sure that nothing happens.” Merlin drew her hands up and kissed the knuckles. “Won't we?”

“PDA Patrol armed,” Gwaine said.

Her answering smile fluttered.

Merlin took her hand, and escorted her back into the tent. Percy was still standing rigidly at Arthur's side. He was staring back at Freya with a surprisingly tender if also covetous expression, as if he had been staring there, waiting for her to reappear.

“Isn't he gorgeous?” Freya breathed, her eyes on where the muscular man's face melted into the warmest milk-chocolate smile ever.

“Yes.” Did he hold a candle to Arthur, standing there beside him? Well, no; but then, who could?

“I really want him.” Freya took a step forward, which prompted Percy to take a few jerky steps forward before he caught himself, or, rather, was reminded by a grunt from Arthur.

It was Merlin who faced the beefy line of Percy, Leon and Arthur first. It was easier with a provided subject of discourse. “It seems we have an unexpected development,” he said. He felt Freya come up beside him. He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Yes,” Arthur agreed. He looked worried.

“Freya has told me that she would like us to intercede if they take steps toward mating, but she would like to get to know Percy.”

“I'm Freya,” she chimed in from beside Merlin. When he looked, he found her with a dopey smile aimed at Percy.

“Percy. Percival Fisher,” said the giant. “You smell amazing.”

Freya slid her hand from Merlin's so she could edge forward and reach out for Percy's. He offered an enormous paw that engulfed hers.

“I'm an artist. I paint and sculpt, and lots of other things. I teach, too.”

“I'm in business,” was Percy's elaborate answer.

The conversation was only mildly stunted, and not by a lack of things to say. Rather, both parties were still on the high of mutual arousal, and yet making the effort not to lunge.

“I went to Spring Run last year, when we met Arthur,” Freya told him over their entwined hands.

Percy looked disappointed. “I almost went, last year.”

“I'm glad you didn't,” Freya offered, and kissed their mingled hands. “We might not have met.”

Percy groaned, and bent down to take her mouth once more. Once they began kissing again the feeble conversation died, and groping began anew.

Arthur turned and glanced to Merlin. “We need to separate them.” He must have seen something in Merlin's face, because he hastened to tack on a stumbling addendum. “He wouldn't hurt her – I mean, he's not – Percy would never do anything she didn't want.”

The problem was implicit. Freya clearly did want.

“But as long as they're touching, they won't remember to talk.”

“Oh, omega choices are something you lot are taking into consideration now, eh?” Gwaine said with barbed mocking from behind Merlin.

Arthur winced.

“That is why it is wise to have a pack at hand. We won't let anything happen to Freya.” Leon said with steely calm.

“We have so many bigger problems right now. Let's focus on Percy and Freya, okay?” Merlin said. He went to peep out a tent flap and scanned the party for the best route for a quiet exit back up to the manor. In his sweep he saw a familiar figure, and did a double take. The words came out as a choked sound as he beheld Morgana marching across the field toward the gathering with all the high pride and force of Boudicca heading for the fray.

Scrambling backwards (and for breath) Merlin grabbed at Gwaine's sleeve and missed. Arthur loomed in his vision, face heavy with concern as he reached for Merlin. Merlin scooted back and tripped over his own feet.

“Merlin? Christ!” Gwaine reacted swiftly, catching Merlin before he could fall, and baring his teeth at Arthur's approach. “Watch it, Poncy.”

Merlin smacked Gwaine and pointed behind them both.

Both swiveled their heads around, Leon following. Seeing nothing, they looked back at him in question.

“Outside,” Merlin said, rolling his eyes, and standing on his own.

The three studs went over and peered out the tent flaps.

“Is that ... Morgana?” said Leon.

“Oh, _Jaysus_!” said Gwaine.

“Oh hell,” said Arthur.

Percy and Freya continued making out.

Morgana strode along in towering heels, her hips swaying as if she were on a runway. While most of the crowd were kicking up their heels (inasmuch as any of these people seemed celebratory) in an array of pastels, or occasionally some navy, Morgana was wearing a dress of screaming violet, complete with fascinator. Her shoes were violently poison green heels with what looked like actual silver _spikes_ accenting the lines.

She was also ignoring the annoyed looking security dude hustling along to catch up to her. There was not a moment of hesitation before she plunged amongst the guests.

“Was she invited?” Gwaine caught Arthur's incredulous look. “Right, silly question.”

“What is she thinking?” Merlin joined the group in peering at Morgana through the open tent.

“Revenge,” Arthur said, and took off to try and head her off.

Merlin started to follow, but halted when Freya and Percy swayed past his vision. He couldn't just leave Freya. He made a frustrated sound and called after Arthur, “Do not scold her, that will only make it worse!”

Arthur's attempt to get to Morgana first was being severely hampered by the fact that he was Arthur Pendragon. Guests drew his attention, or tried to pull him into a chat, or, in the case of Vivian, wrapped her arms around his and pressed her body close until he peeled her off, anything to prevent him from cutting a clear path. Morgana had also clearly spotted the group of them peeking at her, and had adjusted her course, so she reached the tent before Arthur could flip around and intercede her.

“Well, look at you. Aren't you a hot piece of ass? You should thank your fashion consultant. What is that on your shoes?” Morgana said by way of greeting as she strode into the tent.

“Morgana,” Merlin said, slapping a smile on his face and speaking through his teeth. “Should I even ask?”

“It's an engagement party for my very good friend, Gwen, isn't it? Why shouldn't I be here?” Morgana asked, and although she made it sound flippant, Merlin could hear a challenge in the tones. She raised a brow at the entangled couple, who seemed to be getting most of the attention from the few people glancing their way, as Morgana's identity as rogue Pendragon was a secret. A few of them peered over her wardrobe with raised brows, but that seemed the extent of it.

“Is that Freya being mauled under there?” Morgana asked.

“Yes. It seems she's very attracted to Percy,” Merlin said, and sidled beside them. He was at a loss for a method to quell their ardor, but still felt he ought to be doing something.

“So I smell.” Morgana eyed them. “How fascinating. Pack Emrys and Pack Pendragon seem quite compatible, don't they? Hello, Gwaine, Leon.”

Merlin was too horrified by her compatibility comment to make an adequate answer.

“Morgana,” Gwaine greeted cheerfully.

Leon was more at a loss. “Good afternoon?”

“You,” Morgana pointed at a passing waiter with a tray of emptied glasses, “Get me a glass of champagne, would you?” The guy paled, checked behind him, ascertaining it was indeed himself Morgana was speaking to.

“I – yes, of course Mor – Miss le Fey,” he said with breathless amazement, nodded in a wobbly way and headed off.

“Ma'am, I'm sorry, you don't have an invitation. You'll have to leave.” The security guy had caught up with them, annoyed malpha musk rolling off him in waves.

“An oversight, because your employer is a prejudiced fuckface,” Morgana said with a dismissive wave.

Merlin almost died. He heard Gwaine snort back a laugh behind him, but the security guard's expression darkened further. He glanced at Leon.

“It's okay, we'll deal with it,” Leon said.

“But she's trespa-” the guard started.

Morgana interrupted him. “Arthur, darling!” She was all bright cheer as Arthur finally made it over to them, having been waylaid several times on the way. She air kissed both his cheeks and fixed his tie. “Almost but not quite as sexy as Merlin here.”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Pendragon, I don't know how she got in the gates,” Security guy said, glaring at the party-crasher. Morgana was oblivious to his stink eye. Merlin was willing to bet that anywhere Morgana wanted to go, Morgana got, regardless of the obstacles in her way.

“It's fine, Kay,” Arthur said swiftly. “I'll deal with her.”

Security Guy Kay gave them a doubting look, but made a hesitating departure. When he was out of earshot Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Morgana, what are you doing?”  
“Are you sure this is wise?” Merlin chimed in.

“Bugger wisdom, this is worth getting all fancied up for!” Gwaine said from behind them, and stuffed another meatball in his mouth merrily.

He was given three identical raised brows, but went on chewing and grinning.

“This is an engagement party for Gwen and Lance, isn't it? Are the friends of the happy couple unwelcome on this sacred lawn?” Morgana said.

Merlin glanced over to see if Uther had noticed his bastard daughter. Considering that he was chuckling lightly with a group that included Gwen and Lance, it seemed not yet. Perhaps that was why Morgana had not gone to greet Gwen first.

“That's not what I mean, Morgana, and you know it.” Arthur also cast a glance to his father.

“I can be big and ignore him; can't he do the same, or is he still arrested in third grade behavior and subject to a tantrum?” The waiter brought Morgana's champagne with a flourish. She beamed at him and blew him a kiss. He gave a furtive glance at Arthur, looking somewhat pathetic as he pulled his phone out of his apron pocket.

“Not now,” Arthur snapped at him.

“Oh hush, Arthur. Of course. Here, Merlin, you take the picture.” She handed off the phone to Merlin, waited until he was ready, then planted a kiss on the beta's cheek for the shot.

“Don't let our crisis get in the way of your celebrity,” Arthur muttered.

“I won't,” Morgana said sweetly, and to the waiter, “Follow me on Twitter, okay?”

“Arthur's right,” Merlin found himself saying as he returned the phone to the waiter spewing gratitude. Merlin saw Arthur shoot him a surprised and pleased look. “About you being here,” Merlin clarified. He wasn't ready to be on the same side as Arthur. A nasty part of him almost wanted Morgana to stay, just because it would promise to be disastrous for the Pendragons.

Morgana sipped her champagne.

Merlin continued, “We don't want to mess this up for Gwen, she's been nervous enough as it is, and this is a tough crowd. Aunt Bettina wouldn't even talk to me any more after she found out we weren't listed with the APR.”

“That's because she's an old tit who steals the bric-a-brac when no one is looking. I'm sure in her mind the APR is a way to make sure she rubs elbows with people with tchotchkes worth pawning.” Morgana wandered over to the food and perused the offerings.

Arthur followed. “Regardless, Morgana – ”

Morgana interrupted, irritation seeping into her features as she turned back toward him. “I'm not going to mess things up. I'm here because I have a right to attend the celebration of a friend, and not to be excluded like some unworthy cur. Bad blood shouldn't trump someone else's joyous gathering, don't you think, Arthur, Merlin?” She raised her brows, looking between the two of them.

Merlin forcibly did not glance at Arthur this time, but in his periphery he saw Arthur look at him again.

“I'm here for Gwen. We're not addressing anything else.” Merlin said firmly.

“So? I'm here for Gwen too. And I'm not addressing the intended mutilation of the senator's bastard child. Surely, if I can be big about it, so can he.”  
“Keep your voice down!” Arthur snapped.

“As far as anyone else knows, I'm just friends with Gwen. If you let me mingle I promise I'll only talk about rainbows and kittens,” Morgana said. “And Percy trying to pin Freya to that table. I'm sure everyone else is talking about it too, so it won't be indecorous.”

Merlin had forgotten to keep an eye on the couple. Sure enough, Percy and Freya were trying to get to a table, but were thwarted by the chairs all around it, and couldn't seem to divorce their faces long enough to traverse the distance to a flat surface safely. Leon was hovering around them, clearly uncertain about how much he should be interceding.

Merlin dove back over and dragged Freya out of Percy's arms, just to be on the safe side. She whined. Percy grunted in protest.

“Freya, no sex in the food tent, it's unhygienic!” Merlin scolded, tugging her out of Percy's reach.

“Might be fun,” Morgana interjected. “Besides, it already smells like hors d'oeuvres marinated in slick in here.”

“Uhh!” Merlin pulled a face.

“I am just pointing out.”

“That's disgusting.”

“Percy!” Arthur barked.

“Alpha, please, she smells so good...” Percy groaned, righting himself and reaching for her. The pair of them did smell of bounteous breeder slick, and the smell was intensified by the enclosed space. There was even a spot on the thigh of Percy's trousers that Merlin was willing to bet came from Freya.

“We need to get them inside. Come on, Freya.” Merlin tried to guide the uncooperative Freya toward the exit. Whatever did or did not happen, it needed to occur inside, away from eyes.

“Oh my God, Anna, is that you?” came a sweetly incredulous voice that made Merlin's balls shrivel.

Mithian was on the approach, smiling at Morgana as she ducked into the tent. She caught the odor of excited alpha and omega, a hand fluttering to her nose. “Oh, my.” Her eyes briefly flicked to Merlin and where he held Freya's arm, but she swiftly dismissed him.

“It is you, I thought so! Only you can pull off that color! How are you? My goodness, it's been an age!” Mithian drew over, carefully avoiding the two people yearning for each other, and their keepers making sure they didn't lay hands on each other again.

“Mithian,” Morgana said with cloying poison.

“I'm sorry, it's Morgana now, isn't it? I know I should remember, but you'll always be Anna with sad eyes and pigtails to me. This is so unexpected! How are you?”

Morgana smiled a terrifying smile that had Merlin wishing he could edge away without looking completely chickenshit. He had a feeling these two women in this close a proximity would result in some kind of violence. Morgana's smile looked more like the prelude to biting off something's head than a happy greeting.

“Yes, it is Morgana now. Be a dear and remember that, it wouldn't do for my connection to get out. After all, the senator has worked so hard to pretend I don't exist, we wouldn't want to render all those bribes moot, now would we? Have you been introduced? This is Merlin.” Morgana gestured to Merlin, hurling him right under the bus. He dredged up a smile, and promised he would get Morgana back for this. Without letting go of Freya.

“Yes, Professor Emrys. We've met.” Mithian inclined her head. “And, on reflection, he and I might have a few things to talk about, but it will keep.” Her attention flicked back to Morgana. “Still, I'm very surprised to see you here.”

“I'm just full of surprises.”

“Aren't you though? Your recent media explosion was something of a shock,” Mithian said. She slid slid into a thoughtful posture, two fingers against her cheek, head tilted. “And, considering how often we've seen your name in the headlines, it's strange that I don't remember the Grand Alpha saying he'd invited you.”

“Not directly. Gwen mentioned this little soiree to me. Naturally, as we're such good friends, I wanted to celebrate with her. I believe she was given leave to invite anyone she wished.” Morgana sipped from her flute of champagne, but her eyes never left Mithian, nor did Mithian's leave hers.

“Oh, how sweet of Gwen to extend an invitation to you. Isn't she thoughtful?”

“She is,” Morgana agreed. Her fingers tightened on the flute.

“That's Gwen, thoughtful to her toes. Why don't I go fetch her for you, Morgana?” Merlin said in a rush.

“Of course, dear Gwen was not to know,” Mithian said.

“And what is that?” Morgana arched a brow.

Mithian lowered her voice some little bit, her expression dipping into regret that she had to bring up what followed. “Well, that it's not really appropriate for you to be here, is it? Gwen couldn't have known, but really, Anna, you should have spared her the embarrassment and bowed out. I know you want to be here for your friend, but are your 'rights of friendship' really more important than making sure Gwen isn't put on the spot when someone realizes she invited you? You know the Grand Alpha has banished you.”

Now Morgana's brows lowered. “I wasn't actually aware I'd been banished; I thought I ran away.”

“I don't mean to be indelicate, but there were drugs involved, weren't there? Of course, you're clean now, but, at the time …? Perception is a funny thing.”

“Mithian,” Arthur said with sharp warning.

“Arthur, this is Lance and Gwen's special party. It would be such a shame to have it spoiled with a scene orchestrated by someone using their friendship as an opportunity to create some kind of scandalous confrontation.” Mithian's smile was understanding, the roses in her cheeks bright.

Morgana smiled. It was a scary sort of smile, one that reminded Merlin of Arthur, strangely. When Arthur was standing on the crest at Flintridge Park with that cocky yet annoyed expression aimed at Halig, the rapey alpha. The look that said that he'd tried to be polite, but some part inside was going to enjoy the inevitable altercation. Like her brother, Morgana knew what she could do, only with her there was a distinct viciousness at getting to be unfettered.

“As far as I know, I'm not spoiling a damn thing. You're the one creating a confrontation, sweetheart.”

Mithian looked almost sympathetic, and spoke as if she were explaining to someone simple. “I think you know it's not right you're being here. The situation is already quite fraught as it is.” Her eyes strayed briefly to Merlin.

“Mithian, leave Merlin out of this,” Arthur snapped, hard and firm.

The severity of the words had Mithian looking wounded. Her shoulders slumped, and she dipped her head down. She came to stand beside him. “I'm so sorry, Arthur, I just … I can't stand to see you hurt any more, or Lance and his fianceé embarrassed, or the Grand Alpha put in such a situation. There's so much he doesn't know already, and we should tell him, but if we want to keep all these confidences for the moment, we must exercise some discretion. Morgana being here only invites catastrophe.”

“It's not your place.” Arthur's tone was still assertive, but the jagged edge had gentled.

“No, it isn't, it's yours. Think, Arthur.” Mithian reached out and squeezed his elbow. “You have to be the alpha who manages all these people, otherwise you'll never make it through today.”

Merlin had been about to admit to himself that Mithian had a point, but he didn't like the idea of being 'managed', and particularly not by Arthur. “I manage myself, thank you. I don't need Arthur to tell me what to do.”

“I know you don't particularly respect Arthur's position, or him, as it happens. You've made it abundantly clear that you think you can treat him any way you like, and not expect any reprisal,” Mithian said. “But, please, endeavor to remember; some of us like having someone to rely on, and we actually care about Arthur's feelings.”

“For wanting to avoid a scene you sure are doing your damnedest to make one happen.” Morgana sidestepped and laid an arm over Merlin's shoulders. “But since we're being direct, I'll help you control that urge to lecture: if you so much as _look_ at Merlin again I'll punch your lights out.”

“I don't need violence done in my name, thanks.” Merlin told her, feeling slightly annoyed.

Arthur was staring at the arm braced across Merlin's shoulders as if he wanted to remove it, which had distracted him from his previous expression, which had been one caught between telling everyone to STFU, and admitting that everyone had a point, but could they STFU anyway.

“Now you see why I mentioned appropriateness?” Mithian's voice had an I-Told-You-So slant as she spoke to Arthur. “If the Grand Alpha hasn't heard about Percy yet, someone will tell him soon. You have to make sure that when he gets here he isn't upset by what he sees.”

Arthur's jaw flexed. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mithian, I can't ask her to leave. No caveats were given to Gwen when making her invitations, and I just … can't.”

“I see. Well, it's not my place to question my alpha. I'm sure you know best,” Mithian said, bowing her head. However, from under her lashes she shot Morgana a look that clearly said Morgana should leave of her own accord, rather than being compelled to.

“Spare me your sugar-coated bitchery,” Morgana said.

“Yeah!” Freya chimed in, then shifted uncertainly. Her attention had been split by Percy, and the thing with Mithian, thought Merlin wasn't certain she knew what she was lending support to. After speaking, she peered up at Merlin. “Does that mean the senator is going to try and watch us?” She sounded somewhat horrified by the prospect, which must have just occurred to her when she actually thought what the senator being on the way over meant.

“No,” Arthur answered for Merlin.

“Are you sure?” Merlin couldn't quite contain the acid in his tone. “I'm sure betas are one thing, but alphas and omegas?”

Mithian caught Arthur's sleeve. “Don't listen, he's trying to bait you.”

“I'm not!” Merlin protested. It was a perfectly legitimate fear, wasn't it? It wasn't as if Arthur had a lot of restraint, and for all they knew, the senator really did have a sex dungeon, with a big marble altar for alpha and omega matings, as in ancient times. Merlin wouldn't put it past Uther to adhere to some old and voyeuristic customs.

Arthur drew himself up, cutting Mithian before she could respond. “I won't let anything happen. To anyone. I swear it.” He emphasized the last parts in Merlin's direction. He looked very determined on that point.

Okay, fine, no danger of having to rescue Freya from a sex dungeon. Merlin begrudgingly twitched his head in acknowledgment of the pledge.

Mithian drew Arthur's attention back to her by saying, “Do you see why Anna has to leave, Arthur? It's tense enough already, and the Grand Alpha won't stand for her being here, he'll have security take her out, and that will be unpleasant for everyone. It's better if she goes quietly.”

“Oh, I'm not going anywhere, and if someone tries to force me out I'll be sure to wave to all the paps waiting out there hoping to snap a good picture for the society column. Maybe I'll give a nice little interview about my new feud with Mithian Montgomery, and tweet a photo. What's your Twitter handle? @SaintedThespian?” Morgana pulled her own phone out and tried to take a picture.

Mithian squeaked, then ducked behind Arthur. “Alpha, please! We don't want a scandal!”

“Smile! This is going on my Tumblr,” Morgana sang.

“Morgana, you're only proving her point,” Arthur said, annoyed.

Gwaine looked at Merlin. “Is this a catfight or a pissin' contest?”

“It's something sadder,” Freya said.

Arthur huffed a warning sound and grabbed Mithian's arm and Morgana's phone, his frustration with the juvenile antics reaching his tolerance. “That's enough.”

“Listen to Arthur!” Mithian said.

“Why?” Morgana shot back.

“He is your superior alpha, and you're on his territory. Don't you have the slightest idea how to behave? I know the Grand Alpha taught you manners, would it kill you to dust them off?” Mithian was trying to smooth down her dress.

“I have news for you, peaches, no one here is my alpha. And if I did get 'banished,' that would make me no longer a member of pack Pendragon, and therefore not beholden to any of these smarmy fuckers. Pick a fiction and stick to it.” Morgana killed her champagne with a flourish.

“Oh, this is ridiculous. You're hell-bent on behaving like a petulant child.” Mithian crossed her arms. “There's no point in trying to reason with you.”

“Finally! Something we can agree on,” Morgana said. She beamed a smile sweet enough to rival Mithian's.

Arthur raised his hands. “That's enough. Mithian, go to my father. Tell him Percy may have found his omega, but we have it under control. Stay with him.”

Mithian lifted her chin and gave a pissy little sigh. When no further orders were forthcoming she blinked at Arthur. “What about her?”

“What about her?”

Mithian's hands went to her hips. “Are you seriously sending me away on some invented errand? Like I can't tell when you're siding with her over me?” She sounded a little incredulous.

“I'm not siding with anyone,” Arthur said.

“Yes you are! If you weren't, you'd send Leon.” Mithian gestured toward Leon. He was no longer bodily holding on to Percy, but was near enough that, if he needed, he could thwack Percy back to his senses. Freya and Percy had long since stopped paying attention to the proceedings. They appeared to be holding some intimate little conversation over entwined fingers.

“Leon cannot distract my father like you can,” Arthur pointed out.

Mithian's brows raised. “Distract him? Since when shouldn't the Grand Alpha know there might be a mating imminent in his pack?”

Morgana was indeed hellbent on being contrary. “You know, I recall someone crawling up my ass for not obeying someone who wasn't my alpha. I wonder if the same criticism holds for disobeying your actual alpha,” she pondered.

“Do endeavor to mind your own business,” Mithian said sharply to Morgana before turning back to Arthur. “I hate to remind you that I'm the only one who defended you. I'm the only one who cares about how much you were hurt. I'm the one who has been on your side, who will always be by your side. I believe in our pack, and pack only works when you believe, when you trust your alpha. Your father is our Grand Alpha. Are you honestly asking me to deny him involvement? To stall him? Is that believing in your alpha?”

Merlin let out a dry noise.

Mithian's eyes snapped to him. “And what is funny about that?”

“I don't know if you're describing a pack or a cult,” Merlin said frankly. He let go of Freya and faced Mithian fully, instead of standing adjacent, as he had been.

Mithian smirked. “Of course you don't understand, you've never been in a pack. You're passing judgment on something you know nothing about. Shouldn't a scientist know better than to make conclusions without data?”

“I think I have a pretty good idea of how things work around here. Your pack isn't anything new or remarkable from the millions of packs that have gone before, and nothing about it entices me to join. It's just sexism, classism and control all dressed up with words like 'pack values' and 'tradition'. Well, just because it's traditional doesn't mean it's right,” Merlin returned.

It was Mithian's turn to make a little sound in her nose. “Maybe you laugh at our quaint values and traditional ways, but I think you should remember; you spent months toying with Arthur, lying to him, lecturing him, only to turn around and cry foul when your lies imploded and you drove him to act. Is that the modern 'right' method of courting? If you'd done things the honest, traditional way, none of it would have happened. You devastated Arthur, and I don't know why he can't see your selfish actions for what they are.”

The words gouged at Merlin. There were tears shimmering on her lashes, and yes, perhaps she'd been nominated for a Tony, but she meant every word of it. She saw him as some kind of monster who had made sport of Arthur's affections.

No one seemed equipped to stop the tide of words flowing from her mouth, either. At some point, Freya had wrapped her arms around Merlin, and Percy had come behind them both to hover protectively. It should have been alarming, but Percy somehow smelled like Freya already, under the tang of Arthur. He smelled Arthur almost every day now, after he stepped out of a hot shower, before he layered on deodorant, and though sometimes it sickened him, in other moments, he felt a pull of security. Now, the smell just reminded him of that day.

When the words died, Mithian sniffled.

“Bloody hell, I hope you're just that good an actress. I'd hate to think you believed all that twaddle,” Gwaine said.

Mithian only glanced at him briefly. “I do, as it happens.”

Gwaine muttered something that sounded a lot like 'daft bint' around his glass.

There was a dreadful part of Merlin that wondered if she was right. Not about all of it, certainly, but perhaps … perhaps he'd made a situation where such an outcome was ripe.

Merlin had to shake himself. Even so, even if he'd done everything wrong – hell, even if he'd intended to trifle with Arthur's affection, – that was never going to mean he deserved to be assaulted, not by Mithian or Arthur.

“Pardon,” Morgana asked, oh so sweetly into the stunned quiet, “But, tell me you did not just imply that Merlin asked for it?”

Mithian produced a monogrammed handkerchief from her bosom and dabbed her eyes. “It was hardly an attack, it was just scentmarking. He didn't lay a finger on him. And, anyway, an alpha has a right to mark zer omega. If he didn't want anything to do with Arthur, maybe he should have stopped inviting him over.”

“Thank you.” Morgana smiled and for a second their postures and dispositions almost seemed genial. Then, Morgana's smile turned into a snarl and she jerked forward, palms extended. She slammed them into Mithian's shoulders.

The force of it sent Mithian tumbling back, her heels stabbing into the grass and making it harder to steady herself. She tottered for just a moment before she lost the battle with her equilibrium and tumbled into the dessert table and the croquembouche tower.

Merlin watched it all as if in slow motion. Mithian's wobbling as her arms windmilled frantically, her handkerchief and hat flying, her look of dawning horror as she failed to seek purchase; then the waterfall of yellow and white chiffon as she was falling, falling back, her face a comical mask of dismay as she understood her trajectory. Her bottom hit the edge of the table, flipping it toward her. The tower of choux pastries, light glinting off the caramel shards and floss that decorated it, catapulted off the cake plate, forward into the air. For a few awe-inspiring moments the croquembouche was a beautiful dessert-shaped UFO ringed in pastry swans and looking more elegant airborne than it had any right to. It exploded against her back, the contact splitting the individual cream puffs apart, and ricocheting them in all directions. She tumbled in a beautiful fall of white and yellow linen and chiffon, glinting shards of amber caramel, clouds of tawny pastry and dewdrops of custardy pastry cream to the green grass below. Profiteroles bounced off the walls of the tent and rained back down on her, also spraying all those assembled. They threw their hands up to protect themselves from the barrage of dessert.

The table tumbled against the side of the tent, popping open the velcro holding the flaps closed with a tearing sound, then it rolled out amongst the guests. The party went still, everyone staring at the new opening in the tent. There, the elegant Mithian Montgomery with her skirt over her head and exposing white lacy cut bikini panties was splayed atop the tablecloth and covered in pastry.

Merlin peeked out from under his arm. He felt the collected stillness on the inhale and appreciated it before it shattered into motion.

“What the hell?” said someone.

Arthur shook broken profiteroles off himself, being second to Morgana in bystander bombardment. Most of them remained glued in place. He pulled his handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped his face. He glanced down and seemed to write it off, tucking the handkerchief away. Face set with resignation, he headed towards Mithian.

Merlin looked down at himself and gave a sigh. His fine suit had chunks of pastry stuck to it, cream patisserie staining the front. Behind him, Freya started to laugh, speckled with vanilla pastry cream, but her attention was on Gwaine. He had one of the swans stuck in his hair. She lifted it free, shrugged and took a bite out of it, and offered some to Percy, who instead licked pastry cream off her cheek. He'd gotten a few puffs to the chest, but had also gotten one of the orchids, which he plucked from the mess, licked clean, and tucked behind Freya's ear. Then they started kissing again. Leon, who'd been behind Percy, was relatively unscathed, and looked pale.

Morgana was spattered with the stuff. Her fascinator had been knocked off, and a profiterole was actually impaled on her shoe spikes. Still, she looked rather pleased with herself, watching Mithian.

Mithian was the worst off. She had caramel floss in her hair, her hat was crushed under the footed cake plate, and profiteroles had burst across her back into a crumby, creamy, broken flower-petally mess. She was struggling with grass, pastry, the table cloth and her own skirt.

With Arthur's help, Mithian got her skirt back down and sat up. She looked at herself, the ruin around her, the disaster of what Merlin was willing to wager was a designer dress, and the people witnessing her distress. She gave a reedy cry of horror.

She looked up at Morgana with murder in her eyes. “How could you?!”

“The question is, why didn't I do this years ago? Your face!” Morgana cackled. She pulled out her phone again, and Merlin was willing to bet this time she was filming.

Leon unfroze from the shocked tableau of witnesses and went to help Arthur. They both labored to help her stand; it was an awkward affair with Mithian's feet uncertain over all the debris, cream patisserie making her skin slippery, and her acute awareness of her audience. She gave little hiccupy sounds of upset. When they had her righted and stable she gave them a watery smile and thanked them.

“Oh, poor Gwen, her dessert is just ruined.” Mithian looked around the tent, then saw the phone aimed at her.

“What are you – she's not really, is she?” Mithian glanced at Arthur.

“You bet I am. Smile!” Morgana flourished her champagne glass jauntily. “Come on, Princess, up you get; where are those pretty theatrical tears now? I was expecting a performance equal to your turn as Ophelia. I mean, you've got the desperate lust for a man who doesn't care about you; now let's see the full-on cray-cray.”

And that seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back. Mithian gave an enraged shriek and lunged at Morgana with her fingers curled into claws. Leon wasn't fast enough to catch her, but Arthur was. He snapped an arm around her waist, but the force of her impact forced him back, and his foot landed on a patch of cream patisserie. Their combined weight took them toppling down to the grass again, Mithian's weight coming down solidly on Arthur so he grunted.

They all seemed to snap into motion.

“Mithian, get off me!” Arthur said.

“Morgana, you have to stop, this is ludicrous!”

“Merlin, you have no sense of humor; you should be enjoying this.”

“OUCH, Mithian!” Leon yelped.

“You have just proved her point about appropriateness and your complete lack of it, now put that away!” Merlin made a grab for the camera.

“Well, it does feel a bit like due comeuppance, this is much more my kind of party. How's my hair?”

“Not helping, Gwaine! Weren't you supposed to be watching Percy and Freya?”

“They're minding themselves.”

“Percy, help Arthur with Mithian. Percy? Percy!”

“Mmmph...”

“I'm minding Percy, and Percy's minding me.”

“Fine, I'll do it.” Merlin threw up his hands and headed towards Mithian, leaving Morgana to film the scene. He'd worry about phone confiscation later.

“Awww, there are those tears; come on now, the stage version was much more convincing. Can't get it up without a critic in the front row to sing your praises?” Morgana goaded.

“Don't you touch me!” Mithian fumed, and took a swipe at the hand Merlin offered to help her.

“Mithian, don't!” Arthur snapped, anger threatening to bubble forth.

“No! This is his fault!”

“Me? I did not push you.”

“She did it because of you! Now let me go!”

“You're fanging, Arthur. Are you going to subdue her? That's just what this situation needs. Gosh, rowdy omegas. What's an alpha to do? Where is that waiter? I need more champagne to go with dessert.” Morgana said from behind the phone.

“She wouldn't be like this if you hadn't shoved her,” Arthur huffed as he hoisted a struggling Mithian back with one arm around her waist.

“Calm down, Arthur. Someone close the tent!” Merlin yelled at this singularly uncooperative group of people.

“Got it,” Leon said. He dashed over and closed the flaps.

“Turn that off!” Mithian surged unsuccessfully at Morgana.

“No, I'm enjoying the thought of it becoming a viral video.”

“Morgana, please, stop. Don't do this. You always do this, today is not the day!”

“These are good, anyone else have another whole one?” Freya said of the pastry.

“Freya, let go of Percy. You can roll around in dessert and have sex in it at your own engagement party,” Merlin appealed.

“Oooh, can we have a tower of macarons? Rainbow ones?”

“Anything you want,” Percy rumbled.

Arthur managed to set Mithian back onto her feet. He had hold of her elbow to prevent her from going after Morgana who had put her phone away, finally. However, there was no cessation of hostilities.

“I hope we've learned a valuable lesson about saying people deserve assault,” Morgana mocked. “Because if you think Merlin deserved what Arthur did and the smack you gave him, then I'd say you deserved that.”

“What?” Leon's head jerked up.

“Didn't you hear, Leon?” Gwaine jerked a thumb at Mithian. “This mentaller tried to eat the head off poor wee Merlin here, then belted him one.”

“Arthur, is that true?” Leon asked.

“Pull your head out of the sand, there's a dear, Leon.” Morgana said pityingly. “But, yes. Mithian took justice into her own dainty lily-white hands and drove down to smack Merlin on behalf of Arthur, vigilante style.”

“Arthur?” Leon prompted.

“She listened to me vent and then did something stupid and cruel,” Arthur said stonily.

“He deserved it. He's a selfish, manipulative bitch and he was getting all the sympathy while Arthur – AH! She's throwing food at meeee!! Arthur! Help!” Mithian threw her arms up to protect herself from the new barrage.

“Bitch?” Leon blinked at Merlin.

“Leon, leave it.” Arthur's temper was fraying.

“Arthuuurrr--” Mithian tried to duck behind Arthur, who edged away rather than jump to her defense.

“Mithian, don't cry. It's not helping. Morgana! Stop throwing wontons at her!”

“Oh, all right. Party pooper.”

“Merlin deserved it? That's a load of bollocks.”

“Don't provoke her, Gwaine. She doesn't know what she's saying,” Arthur said.

“Those best not be fangs you're flashing at me, Boyo, I've got my own set, and by my reckoning you're owed a good boot up the arse yourself.”

“Gwaine! Stop it,” Merlin snapped, getting desperate to stop things from escalating into an actual fistfight.

“Why not let them go at it; all things are better in the open, aren't they?” Morgana tilted her head at Merlin.

“Morgana, stop helping. Stop hindering. Just stop! And you two, is this really the time for some ridiculous alpha brawl?” Merlin demanded.

“I'll stand down if he does.” Arthur was wary.

“Gentlemen first, boyo.” Gwaine was cocky.

A voice thundered over the cacophony. “What is going on here?!”

The senator had arrived.

He cut through the onlookers peeking in the entrances and into the tent proper. At the first wave his nose twitched with the heavy wave of breeder slick. From there he surveyed the discomposed group, the tent walls sprayed with the croquembouche, and the two people from the catering company cowering behind the heated chafing dishes. Merlin could just see behind him that Gwen and Lance had followed, and wore twin expressions of shock.

With a jerk of the head, Uther sent the two waitstaff scrambling out of the tent, likely into the arms of his lawyer, who would traumatize them further with threats of litigation should the smallest breath of what had just happened reached the outside world.

Merlin's stomach dropped.

Mithian was still floundering in Leon's arms, pastry bits dropping off her at random intervals, and her face red with tears. Arthur was now covered in cream puffs and grass stains, his hair awry, and standing very close to Gwaine, fangs out. Merlin stood between them, a hand on each of their chests. Almost everyone had frozen in place when the senator appeared, except Freya and Percy. They had taken advantage of the meager supervision and were once again making out with enthusiastic ardor, though by this point Freya had half pinned Percy against one of the tables, and in between kissing, they licked cream patisserie off each other. The My Little Pony panties and Freya had parted ways at some point, and were now discarded on the grass, directly in front of Uther. He leaned down and picked them up by the band between thumb and forefinger.

Then there was Morgana, whose expression went from one of smirking amusement to challenge the moment Uther appeared. She was on her second glass of champagne, and previously had been thoroughly diverted, filming the events. It was she who answered, as Arthur looked around the group, completely at a loss, and Merlin had to agree, their current situation was somewhat indefensible and definitely inexplicable.

“Hello senator; fabulous party. I do so love harassment, assault and fornication on the lawn.”

From somewhere at the back of the crowd that had gathered Merlin heard someone say “...Isn't that Morgana le Fey? The model?”

Merlin found the mutating expression and Uther's efforts to suppress it fascinating. The senator's eyes went from simmering black coals to deadened disinterest, his mouth from a furious line to grim tension. For a moment he watched them, and swallowed the ire. Merlin saw him turn it into amusement. He also saw Uther decide to ignore Morgana, and focus on the others. Morgana saw it too. Her shoulders straightened and her fingers tightened on her phone.

“Well, I see the party has been in here,” Uther chuckled. He gestured with the panties. “I assume these belong to the lucky breeder Percy has chosen? Arthur, would you introduce me?”

Since Freya was currently atop Percy, it was Merlin who went over first. She didn't listen to a few softly uttered imperatives, so Merlin sighed and grabbed the back of her neck to tug her off. Freya and Percy's lips parted with a smacking noise. At first the response was sluggish, but when Percy saw Uther was present he came to attention with much more haste.

Arthur stepped forward to take the panties from his father and shoved them at Gwaine. “Alpha, may I present Freya Bast?”

“Bast,” Uther said, cocking his head, just the barest glint of avarice flicking over his features. “Any relation to Oliver Bast and Bast Financial?”

“That's my dad,” Freya said, then pinked. “Sorry sir, I think we got a bit carried away.”

“Well, that is bound to happen, isn't it? When an alpha and omega find each other, nature takes over, doesn't it?” Uther half turned, addressing the question to his guests, who rippled a chuckling assent. A half-hearted one, considering there was still the ruined dessert and a whimpering Mithian.

“However, I think it best if you continue getting to know each other back up at the house.” Uther said, and there was no mistake it was a command. Percy took Freya's hand, and began to lead her out. Merlin glanced around, but saw Leon was watching Arthur, and was not intending to follow, and Gwaine was watching Merlin.

Uther's gaze flicked to Mithian and Morgana, and as much as Merlin wanted to stay, for Morgana's sake, he had promised Freya he'd watch out for her. And though Morgana might not think it, she had Arthur to protect her, and Gwen and Lance.

Merlin only half listened to Uther beg the pardon of the others. He shot an apologetic glance to Gwen as he hustled after Freya, with Gwaine tailing behind him. She gave him a wide-eyed look and mouthed 'what happened?' on the way by, but all Merlin could do was grimace.

They were halfway up the lawn when Leon jogged after them. He didn't say anything, but led them to a back door of the manor. They filed in through a massive kitchen like a silent vanilla-scented chain gang, with household staff watching them with silent awe. Merlin was willing to bet this was one of the better shows ever to be had for them. Ida-the-maid appeared with a trash bag and some towels in a twinkling, and joined their line.

Leon lead them to what seemed like a rec room stuck in an unobtrusive corner of the house. Comfortable lounging furniture centered around a huge TV, with video game systems and controllers lined up with military precision behind a glass entertainment center. There was another little wet bar in the corner, and, more importantly, a bathroom.

“Well, thank you, Darlin'.” Gwaine said to Ida-the-maid, relieving her of the stack.

“Can I bring you anything else?” Ida said. It came out on a burst, like she wasn't allowed to talk but couldn't resist.

“That's a lamb, but I think we're set; would you mind keeping an eye on the party, maybe letting us know if anyone is coming our way?” Gwaine asked, charming smile in place. It worked, because Ida smiled a secret kind of smile and nodded. Gwaine winked at her, and she giggled, curtsied and scurried out.

Merlin took the trash bag and flicked it open. Soon enough, everyone was peeling bits of choux pastry off, scraping the cream away and dumping it in the bin. Well, some of them. Gwaine was the least covered, but Merlin picked the crumbs out of Gwaine's hair. Percy and Freya's ardor had cooled some, and they ate and licked cream puffs off each other with something more akin to playfulness. The arm of her dress was dipping off her shoulder so Percy could kiss around her collar bones.

“Go wash up, Freya” Merlin said, and when Percy got up to follow her, he added. “Alone.”

Percy actually pouted. It was strange to see a man that big pout, but he obeyed.

When Gwaine was deemed clean, he looked over Merlin. Mostly he was smeared, but Merlin declined a wet towel because the suit was dry clean only. It was a pity, but he was sure it was done for. Funny, before he might not have minded, but after having been oogled by Arthur in it he thought he might miss the suit and it's capacity to stun Arthur.

They settled to sit, Percy going into the bathroom when Freya came out. He was only in a moment or two. When Percy exited, Gwaine went in to tend to his hair. Percy sat and Freya curled onto his lap.  
Leon, however, stood with arms crossed, looking worried.

“How bad is it?” Merlin asked after a moment.

“Bad,” Leon said.

They lapsed back into quiet.

Ida came rushing in a few moments later and blurted a warning. Not that she needed to – they could hear Arthur and Morgana coming from quite a ways off.

“...and what did you expect exactly?”

“Oh, perhaps he could pretend like I wasn't a leper, for a start. If Gwen hadn't said she invited me and begged him not to kick me out he probably _would_ have had security frog march me out of here.”

The door burst open and Morgana stalked in. Arthur came in behind her, his gait sharp and impatient. Morgana went immediately to the bathroom. She didn't slam the door, but it was a near thing.  
Arthur sighed and surveyed them all meticulously. “Is everyone okay?”

Multiple glances passed back and forth before there was a group shrug that loosely translated to 'Sort of?'. The atmosphere was largely uncertain.

Leon brought Arthur a towel and he began trying to pick food off of himself. Arthur had cream patisserie in his hair. Leon dabbed at it ineffectually until Morgana exited the bathroom, snorted and went back in. After a moment she came back out with wet the towel and took over washing her brother's head so his bangs stuck to his brow.

When Morgana finished she tossed the towel back at Arthur and sat on a bar stool. She had a cream puff still impaled on the spikes on the toe of one shoe. When she noticed it she tried to shake it off, but it wouldn't dislodge.

Gwaine leaned over the back of his seat, picked the puff off, and began to eat it.

Morgana snorted again. Freya squeaked a repressed giggle. Percy grinned. Merlin locked his jaw against his own sound of impending mirth, but all you had to do was look at them; bedraggled adults who'd more or less gotten into a food fight while trying to prevent a display of wanton sex in front of a bunch of stuffy upper crusts. It was so absolutely ridiculous, and the fact that at some point a senator was going to come down on their heads as if they were naughty children somehow made it more so.

Who started laughing first, Merlin had no idea, only that suddenly they were all braying with laughter. Even Arthur, slumped against the wall, laughed somewhat helplessly. After all, Merlin supposed, what else could he do at this point?

“Her face!” Morgana pounded the bar.

“His!” Gwaine said, and produced the My Little Pony underoos from his jacket pocket and twirled them around on one finger.

Freya whined with equal parts humor and embarrassment and buried her face into her hands. There were catcalls as Gwaine shot her panties to her rubber band style.

Percy caught them, and smelled them happily, which brought a new round of groans and guffaws.

“Oh my God, this is a disaster.” Merlin ran a hand through his hair, and found out he didn't need to worry about ruining his coif; he had cream pat in his hair too. “I never thought it could be this bad!”  
“Bloody car wreck,” Gwaine agreed.

“I'm so sorry!” Freya said between wet little giggles. Her eyes were watering and she was fanning herself with one hand.

“Well, the worst has happened, it can only get better from here on out,” Leon said, but he was eyeing Merlin with polite curiosity. Clearly, Leon was a loyal beta who didn't do a lot of thinking about things that weren't his business, as compared to Lance, who had been noticing things and trying to mitigate disaster in advance.

Gwaine rolled to his feet and went to investigate the bar. “Anyone else need a drink?”

There was a chorus of yeses and Gwaine went about pouring scotch for Arthur, Leon, Percy and Morgana. Freya produced her flask and offered some to Percy. He sniffed it, but passed.

Gwaine handed around drinks. “So, what happens now?”

“Now he works the spin,” Morgana said.

“And Mithian?” Merlin wondered. He wasn't a good enough person not to have enjoyed her fall, but Morgana had just assaulted a beloved member of the American _Thea-tah_. Odds were, someone was going to be miffed at them.

“Her father finally roused himself to comfort his darling baby daughter, and so did all the other breeders. She'll get plenty of sympathy out of it, don't you worry.” Morgana only sounded a little bitter.

On the floor, Percy and Freya had started in with tender little kisses again. Gwaine drained his own glass and found himself shoulder to shoulder with Leon in parting them.

Arthur sighed. “He'll try to smooth things over. Then he'll come looking for us.”

“Precisely why I won't be here,” Morgana said. She brushed off her dress, hoisted up her boobs then went striding out.

They had already concocted a sundae of disaster between them. Merlin spent a few moments in indecision before making up his mind that it didn't need a cherry on top.

“Stay; watch Freya,” Merlin said to Gwaine. Gwaine saluted him, got an odd look from Leon for it, and Merlin darted in pursuit of Morgana.

Thankfully those scary sharp shoes of hers clicked loudly on the marble floor and made her easy to tail.

He wasn't the only one, however. There were footfalls behind him, and even before the scent of Arthur hit his nose, Merlin had suspected whom it was. Or, rather, must have sensed on some strange level, because the hairs on his arms pricked up and he had an immediate and base instinct to run. Only, Merlin couldn't figure out if it was to run in fear, or run so Arthur could catch him, and he did not like that those two very different reasons were muddled.

When Arthur fell into cautious step beside him it startled Merlin from his internal efforts to identify and quell the urge, and he veered away, putting more space between them.

Merlin looked straight ahead down the corridor. “I'll handle this.”

“I'm sure you could, but I can't let her roam the grounds unsupervised. I'm in enough trouble as it is.”

“Do you think she smuggled in a can of spray paint under that dress? Or could smuggle anything out? By the way, you're in _trouble_? What are you, seventeen? Are you going to get grounded?” It probably came out nastier than he meant for it to, but he was still smarting over being forced to talk to Arthur at all, not to mention the fiasco on the lawn with Mithian. And this whole situation, really.

“No, but I think we would all prefer to say she was escorted as a guest, rather than having her accused of breaking and entering the house as a crasher,” Arthur said, sounding very reasonable.

“Your father would never risk it coming out she was his daughter. Filing charges would only bring scrutiny he doesn't want, and might provoke Morgana into saying something,” Merlin pointed out.

“Yes, well,” Arthur seemed to straighten himself. “Sometimes when emotions are high we Pendragons don't always make the best decisions.”

There was a second of quiet neither rushed to fill. It was rather evident to what Arthur was referring to, but Merlin was still not ready to discuss it, let alone in the mood.

“Merlin,” Arthur began.

“Oh, my God, _**now**_?” Merlin said incredulously.

“I haven't really had the opportunity before now; you haven't answered any of my messages, I don't even know if you got them.” Merlin could feel Arthur staring at him.

“I got them.”

“Then you know how sorry I am that – ”

Merlin interrupted him before he could get any more out. “Should she be going in there?”

He pointed. They'd caught up to Morgana in time to see her entering one of the rooms.

Arthur glanced after her, obviously ready to dismiss Morgana and get back to Merlin; however, when he saw which door, his brow furrowed.

“That's … ” He trailed off and hustled up to follow Morgana.

Somehow Merlin was not surprised to find the room was an entire private gallery that faced the back of the house. It was a long room, filled with display cabinets and curios brimming with what were undoubtedly expensive artifacts. It was like a mini museum. Some of the items had their own tiny placards identifying historical periods or probable artists, like the La Belle Epoque LaCloche Freres Engagement Collar amongst a collection of jeweled items, or an entire case of antique swords and daggers.

Morgana was heading right for a little pitcher under a bell jar on a credenza. It was a milky green, with an eastern style dragon for a handle among other Asian motifs. It was very beautiful.

In a jolt Merlin remembered the interview Morgana had given, and he knew at once that this was the ewer she had described. The ewer Uther used to scentmark his children, and his prized subordinates. He also had an unpleasant suspicion of what she wanted with it.

“Morgana,” he said cautiously.

“Yes, Merlin?”

“Let's think about this.”

“Oh, I have.” She placed both hands over the glass dome and lifted it off.

“Yeeaah, but are you sure you want to add gross destruction of property to the highlights of Gwen's engagement party? We've done some scarring damage already. We might want to pace ourselves, we'll never top this,” Merlin said, realizing he was sounding a little nuts, but his desire not to fuck anything else up was approaching desperate.

“What's a drop of saltwater in the ocean?”

“Morgana, it's hundreds of years old,” Arthur said.

“Looking forward to inheriting it to scentmark others, are you Arthur? Well, except Merlin. I suppose all he has to do is disagree with something you say and he'll get it from the source.”

Merlin grit his teeth, emotions snapping. That was it, that was the limit of his personal tolerance for barbed comments aimed at him without retort. “Yeah, you know what? Screw you. You keep bringing it up, and at first maybe it was about defending my honor, but now you're just using it to hurt Arthur and making some kind of sick public spectacle out of it for your own use. Yes, what happened between him and me sucked and continues to suck, particularly as you keep referring to it and I have to keep reliving it, but you know what? It's between Arthur and me, and _we_ will deal with it.”

“Wait, we will?” Arthur looked at him hopefully.

Merlin sighed and pivoted to face Arthur. “Yes. We will. We will sit down and talk about it like adults, but not right now. Now is obviously not a good time, don't you agree?”

Arthur nodded. He still had pastry cream in his eyebrows.

“Can we get back to the matter at hand?” Merlin gestured to Morgana, and the likelihood of imminent property damage, which took precedence over custard eyebrows.

Arthur glanced fleetingly at Morgana, then back to Merlin. “Yes – just, do you promise we'll talk?”

Merlin glared at him.

“Okay, okay,” Arthur said.

They turned back to Morgana.

Morgana arched a brow again. “You two are aware you bicker like you're married, aren't you?”

“Morgana, shove it.” Merlin said.

“All right, that was uncalled for,” Morgana admitted.

Arthur sighed. “Morgana, Merlin is right. What I did to him is wrong, and not that it's any of your business, but no. I don't want that thing. In fact, I'd just as soon sell it. You sometimes forget I had to use it, too. I was the only guy in school whose father scentmarked him like he was still a baby. I know you're angry at father for a lot, and you have a right to be, but this will not help anything.”

“Your Father?” Morgana asked, with just the tiniest whiff of taunting.

“Our father,” Arthur corrected.

Morgana's mouth hoisted in something like a smile.

Arthur bowed his head in acknowledgment.

She still picked up the ewer. “Yes. Well. Well. That doesn't change this.” She looked down at the ewer in her hands with an expression of the utmost distaste.

There was quiet as Merlin and Arthur watched Morgana hold the pitcher.

To a degree, Merlin did understand. He still resented her using him, not to mention Gwen, as a foothold in the door and a method of stirring up unrest, but he knew this was likely to be one of the few chances she had. Merlin also knew that he was responsible for her dredging up the past just lately. He was the one who asked for her history, he was the one who exposed it to the world. He was the one who brought Arthur back into her life.

In fact, in many ways, he was entirely responsible for their current situation. He couldn't quite seem to escape that thought as he watched Morgana holding a symbol of her imprisonment.

It was that thought that brought him over to her. Maybe Morgana was never going to be an easy friend to have, maybe she was brusque and yes, made things difficult, but he had for himself the evidence that sometimes life needed a pair of tall shoes and a kick-ass attitude.

Just as sometimes life needed softness as well. More than ever, Merlin was aware how little of that was available under this roof.

So, he reached out to her and curled his arms around her in a hug.

She tensed under his touch at first, fingers clenching around the ewer as if to protect it from him. Her body was a thin whipcord of tension she wasn't allowing others to see.  
“It's okay,” Merlin said softly into the back of her neck, loosening one hand to stroke her side.

She was trembling now.

“I hate it. I hate this thing, this house, I hate what he did to me, I hate everything about this place. I hate that my real parents died and left me here. I hate Mithian and her smug superiority. And I hate him. I hate him!” She spat with ire so raw it was near to breaking.

“I know. Nothing that happened here should have,” Merlin intoned softly.

“No. Nothing. I'm his daughter – I should have – _he_ should have – ”

Merlin smelled Arthur approach more than saw him, but didn't part any of his attention from Morgana, whose quaking intensified.

“He should have loved you as you were,” Merlin finished for her.

Morgana gave a cry and thrust the ewer at Arthur, a sloppy gesture that was more about ceasing all contact with the symbol of her servitude than surrendering it. Then she turned into Merlin and buried her face in his neck. Arthur caught the ewer, and blinked at Merlin as Merlin wrapped his arms around Morgana and rubbed her back.

They locked eyes over her shoulder. Arthur looked regretful. He made a weak gesture towards Morgana, a question of what he could do.

Merlin shook his head so minutely Morgana wouldn't notice. There was nothing Arthur could do for her. Morgana wasn't crying, just clutching him very tightly, and breathing harshly. He imagined that she was trying to regain her equilibrium, even as she took the comfort he offered. He guessed not many people knew she needed it, but judging from her hold, she had. She'd come expecting battle, faced opposition, and, from a certain perspective, had emerged victorious over a lesser obstacle. But kicking Mithian hadn't mattered, not really. She'd probably enjoyed it, and if Merlin were really honest with himself, he'd experienced a flash of delight when Mithian hit the table. It was a fittingly theatrical retribution.

Behind them, Arthur had replaced the ewer on the cabinet, and stood watching them with a slightly awkward willingness and eagerness to be involved, but clearly with no clue how. He reached a hand out tentatively, waiting for Merlin to nod before he made contact with Morgana's back. He patted it in between where Merlin's hands stroked.

“I do hate him. So much. Even if he's my sire,” she eventually said with rough conviction.

“And that's okay,” Merlin murmured.

“People say you're supposed to love your parents, no matter what. But I don't want to. I can't forgive him. I can't ever forgive him.”

“So you can't forgive him. We don't always forgive people who hurt us. Who cares what other people say? It's between you and him, not them. Just don't let it destroy you, too.” She had the capacity to let it eat her whole, and Merlin suspected Morgana was more aware of the similarities she bore to her biological father than she'd like to be.

When Merlin glanced fleetingly at Arthur, he looked at little pale, clearly thinking the lack of forgiveness was aimed at him. Then again, the afternoon was full of double talk; he could hardly be blamed for thinking it. But, later. He would talk to Arthur later, and hopefully by then he would know himself what he wanted and how to say it.

Morgana held onto him a time longer, just breathing him in. As he had done with Freya, Merlin found himself automatically matching his breath to hers, putting them in sync, then calming the rate of inhalation. And, as with Freya, it succeeded. Morgana calmed enough that he could feel her wry smile quick against his skin.

“Will I have to pay for this therapy session?”

The tone wasn't as arch as it could have been, so Merlin smiled, never ceasing to rub her back. “I owed you this one.”

Morgana chuffed a sound too weak to become laughter. Merlin raised a hand to cup her head, and found some pastry she'd missed. He picked it free, and handed it to Arthur.

“He thinks he's right,” Arthur said, putting the chunk into his pocket. When Morgana pulled her face out of the crook of Merlin's neck to glare at him, he added swiftly, “not saying that he is. He isn't. But he wants what he thinks would be best for you, and he isn't afraid to make things and people be the way he thinks is best. If he didn't care, he wouldn't bother.”

“Even you know that's not true, Arthur. We're reflections of him. He cares about how we make him look.” Rather than angry, Morgana just sounded tired. Her hands dropped from Merlin and she straightened her shoulders. She scanned the room, and headed off to a mirrored cabinet. She checked her reflection beyond the litter of antique snuff boxes, engraved pocket watches and inlaid Victorian scent boxes for travel.

Arthur didn't seem to know how to argue that. There was something sad in his features as he watched Morgana fuss with her hair. Then, he said softly, “I'm sorry. I should have been a better brother to you, even if I didn't know we were actually related. You were my sister in all ways, I should have been there. I should have helped.”

“Do you think I needed you to protect me?” Morgana said with sharp derision.

“No. Just someone to love you, as you were.” Arthur's gaze traveled to Merlin. “And you. I failed you both in the same way, and both times I caused more damage than I can ever hope to repair. I see that, now.”

No one had anything to say to that. Morgana watched them both through the mirror like a hawk with dramatic smokey purple-black eye makeup that had somehow escaped the fracas without a smudge. Arthur … still had pastry cream in his brows, and all over his shirt front. Some of the caramel floss must have hit his pristine shirtfront, because it had melted into a sticky squiggle of sepia.

And he was still handsome. And it was still unfair. And Merlin wasn't sure about his own capacities to forget and forgive. He wasn't at all sure what to say, and was frightened of what might come out if he opened his mouth. Arthur meant the words, but Merlin didn't know how he felt about them, except that he was moved by them even if he didn't want to be. Words were words, they didn't necessarily mean a change. Statistics would say they didn't.

“...Arthur,” he began without knowing where to go with it.

“Arthur, there you are!” Lance entered the room, pulling Gwen along by the hand, and used his other to lift his phone to his mouth. “I found them. They're in the main gallery.”

Arthur blew out a frustrated sigh. “You have the worst timing in the world, Lance.”

“Sorry?” Lance said, at a loss.

Merlin arched a brow at Arthur. “Is there another gallery?”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Uh, yes.”

“Two more,” Morgana chimed in. “One for paintings, and another for sculptures. The senator does love his show pieces.”

“There's also the antique cars in the second garage,” Lance added helpfully.

Gwen let go of his hand and headed over to Morgana, hands on hips. “What were you thinking, Morgana? Dammit!”

Morgana did look a little sheepish now. “I'm sorry, I really am.”

Unable to maintain any ire, Gwen hugged her tightly. “Are you okay?”

“I've been better,” Morgana said. “I might have ... overdone things. A bit.”

Gwen made another soft sound of loving frustration and hugged Morgana again. Morgana melted into the embrace as she hadn't into Merlin's.

In came Leon, followed by Percy, who was carrying Freya piggyback, with Gwaine bringing up the rear, scotch bottle in tow.

“Uh,” Merlin gestured at Percy and Freya. “Why aren't they...?”

“Don't worry, Merlin!” Freya chimed happily. “We diddled ourselves and our heads are much clearer now.”

Beneath her, Percy blushed. “Freya.”

“It's all right, they need to know.” Freya nuzzled the back of Percy's head.

“I'm sure Merlin approves of mutual masturbation, don't you Merlin?” Gwaine waggled his brows.

“At this point, I am in favor of anything that calms anyone down,” Merlin said.

Gwaine beamed again, and began patting his pockets. “Is that so? I might happen to have – “

“So help me God, Gwaine, if it's a joint, it better stay out of sight,” Arthur warned.

Gwaine sighed ruefully, and stopped rifling his clothing.

“I haven't mated her, Alpha,” Percy said. “And I apologize for my actions. I was overcome.”

“I know, Percy, I know,” Arthur said.

“I will undertake any punishment the Grand Alpha thinks fitting for my uncontrolled behavior,” Percy said. His display of valor made Freya sigh, and nestle down to kiss his cheek from over his shoulder.

“There will be none. You did nothing wrong. And Freya, Percy could not have been luckier.”

Freya smiled at Arthur, but it was somehow a little sad.

“Speaking of, your Da's on the warpath, I'd say,” Gwaine said. He jerked a thumb to the door. “Ida said he was coming toward the house in a state.”

Arthur closed his eyes and took a breath. Then he surveyed them all at a calculating sweep. Merlin could see it for the strategist's move that it was. What to do with a dessert-smeared, sex-scented, semi-belligerent and mildly-intoxicated collection of willful adults.

“If we put Gwen and Lance to the side, away from us, it separates them from the scene. They were with him and had no part in it,” Merlin said softly to him.

Arthur's eyes darted to him, surprise ebbing into consideration.

“What? Merlin, no, I won't stand off to the side, like some child hoping to escape a scolding.” Gwen let go of Morgana and approached Merlin.

“And I'll not be scolded.” Gwaine added, taking a swig out of his bottle.

“Gwaine, get rid of that for a start,” Merlin said.

Gwaine huffed, but didn't argue when Morgana took the bottle, had a swig, then hid it in a big vase in the corner. Merlin hoped Ida found would find it while dusting and have a party with the other domestics. It was a very nice whiskey, and Merlin was willing to bet their job came with very few perks.

“I mean it, Merlin. Maybe Lance has to do his duty by his alpha and obey whatever orders Arthur gives,” she glanced at him, and Lance sort of grimaced, “but I don't. And I won't. I will stand with my friends, not hide and hope he overlooks me.”

“Gwen,” Freya said. She tapped Percy and he bent at the knee so she could slither off him. She went over and took Gwen's hands. “It's not about us; maybe he'll yell, and of course, Gwaine, no one wants to be scolded, but Arthur's pack … oh, it's so hard to explain. What we all did, it looked really bad, in front of all those people. And Arthur could get in real trouble with his alpha, for letting it happen.”

“I'm not concerned about getting in 'trouble',” Arthur said with pointed steel. His eyes narrowed. “My father and I have one or two things outstanding. He may be in more trouble with me, than the reverse.”

Somewhere in the front of the house came a commotion.

“Impending doom upon our heads,” Morgana said in a more offhand fashion than Merlin thought she really felt.

Arthur rapped out instructions. “Percy, Freya, behind Merlin and me. Gwen, please, take Lance, stand over there – please, Gwen? This is not you disavowing us, it's strategy. Gwaine, flank Merlin, Leon, you're with Morgana.”

Gwen, Freya and Gwaine looked at Merlin for confirmation. Merlin nodded. After all, Arthur knew his own father and it was in his own best interest to mitigate any further hoopla. He briefly considered pointing out that he didn't expect Arthur to protect him, and that Uther was unlikely to miss the fact that Arthur was standing shoulder to shoulder with Merlin, instead of in front, but Arthur would know better what the placement of bodies meant, and there was currently enough contrary complaint.

There was motion as all parties found their space.

“Should I be relieved no one feels able to give me an order, or resent that I've been left to fend for myself?” Morgana asked.

“Stand back and don't antagonize him,” Merlin told her. He shot her a strong look. “Please, Morgana, don't make it worse.”

She locked eyes with him, then sighed loudly. “If he says anything horrible me, all bets are off.”

“Hopefully he'll have too many targets,” Arthur murmured.

They could hear stomping footsteps, now. Merlin had no doubt that the staff had been prompt in answering where the group had gotten to, because the senator was making a beeline for them.  
Arthur stood beside him, shoulders squared, jaw set. Merlin had an urge to reach out and take his hand, but he didn't dare lest it be misconstrued for something other than an expression of solidarity. Arthur had never lacked for courage, and Merlin did not underestimate how much this took. While it seemed more and more that Arthur did not always agree with Uther, he did hold him in high esteem.

Then something niggled at Merlin's mind. One or two offhand comments Arthur had made.

“Are you making yourself a target?” Merlin blurted as he turned to look at Arthur.

Arthur's jaw firmed.

Merlin pitched his voice low, so it remained largely between the two of them, “What are you doing?”

Arthur's eyes slid over to him. “What an alpha does. A real alpha.”

“You're already a real alpha,” Merlin couldn't help pointing out.

“Then, what a real leader does. What you would do.” Arthur's words made Merlin's heart flex again.

“There you are!” Without the audience of a lawn of party guests, Uther roared in unfettered outrage. He flung a gesture over his shoulder to Mithian, who tarried several demurring steps behind. She'd cleaned up some, and had changed out of the dress. Instead, she wore a t-shirt several sizes too big with Arthur's alma mater emblazoned on the front. She shot Merlin a nasty little look, but went to stand at Arthur's left, as per Uther's authoritative pointing.

Once she was among the other miscreants, Uther proceeded to the center of the room and beheld them all with a sweep of furious eyes as if they were a sorry contingent indeed. He paced the line of people like a drill sergeant, fixing them withering looks one at a time, leaving only Lance and Gwen out. “I have never seen such disgraceful behavior! I expected more from Pack Pendragon, and those aligning with our pack. You have embarrassed us and insulted our guests! I expected better of you.” He halted when he saw Morgana standing at the back.

“And I think it best if you were to leave,” the senator said sharply.

“I asked her to stay, Alpha,” Arthur said.

“Be silent, Arthur.”

“I did invite her,” Gwen said in a fearful rush, moving from her perpendicular position to join the line. “She's my friend, I didn't know it would upset everyone. I didn't know it would upset everyone.” Lance joined her and took her hand encouragingly.

Uther didn't even look at her. “Lance, control your breeder.”

Gwen sucked in a breath. Clearly the word 'doctor' before her name didn't mean a thing when compared to her capacity to bear young.

“Sir, you will not speak to my fiancee that way,” Lance said firmly.

This time Uther did turn, with a look of incredulity that Lance dared speak out. “Excuse me, demi-beta Du Lac?”

“I respect you, Sir, and being in your pack has been an honor, but I won't stand by and let you speak to Gwen like that. Gwen is a wonderful woman, a brilliant doctor, and she's doing me the honor of marrying me. She's not a second rate person because she is a breeder. But it's not just that; these are all good people.”

“Whom the niceties of polite behavior seem to have eluded.” Uther eyed Gwaine and Merlin with evident distaste. Merlin felt Gwaine bristle beside him, but he quelled when Merlin shot him a stern look. Uther could hate them all day, Merlin didn't give a shit.

Then his gaze found Arthur. “Though it seems not all of Arthur's demi-pack is lacking. At least Percival has made a good match. The Basts are an excellent family. I can smell that it is not yet consummated; you had best mark your breeder, Percy, if you intend to wait until Spring Run to mate her.”

The question was addressed to Percy, who raised an arm around Freya's shoulders as if to protect her from the words.

“That's enough.” Arthur stepped forward. “That's between Percival and Freya.”

“All business in this pack involves me,” Uther said.

Freya raised a hand. “Um, I'm not in your pack. And I kinda don't want to be. I might be a little drunk, but you're sort of a dick.”

Uther growled as the insult hit home. He took one menacing step forward. As one, Percy and Gwaine drew forward as a wall of muscle between Uther and Freya. Merlin had made one step to join with them, but Arthur had elbowed himself in front of Merlin in a smooth, automatic gesture. In seconds, and in the smallest of motions, they had consolidated into a unified front behind Merlin and Arthur.

There was the acid smell of angry alpha creeping into the air. Arthur's was familiar, and the scent of it made memories wash up, but Merlin refused to behave like Mithian. The moment fangs came out, she began cringing in that unpleasant stereotypical omega way, her neck bared in an unconscious tilt of the head.

This time the anger wasn't aimed at him, and while it grated against his senses unpleasantly, it didn't turn his knees to jelly as it had before. Oh, it still brought a horrible flash that made him close his eyes and gather himself, but it wasn't as sharp, didn't burn across his senses like a noxious chemical.

The stink of Uther's anger was sulfurous and sharp, and Percy's had a yeasty tang. Those smells were the same as any other alpha anger he smelled on suppressants; it was only Arthur's that touched him, that meant something deep down, instead of simply being surface distraction.

Gwaine didn't appear to be emitting an angry smell; instead, his eyes glittered with what was probably glee at the possibility he might get to punch senator Uther Pendragon, and end up on a new list: Warrant For Arrest.

Uther snarled at Arthur. From over his shoulder, Merlin could see the senator's canines seat fully. They looked very sharp, and curved in a wicked way. Those teeth had done violence, Merlin just knew in his gut.

Arthur and Uther locked eyes. Merlin could feel the electric clash of wills pouring off them, a kind of silent battle.

“You dare let them speak to me like that? Such blatant disrespect? In my own home?” the senator's voice was thick and fricative.

“Your son doesn't 'let' us do anything,” Gwaine said. His words caught oddly around his fangs, which were bulkier when extended. “But, oh aye, we dare. We seem to be a ballsy lot.”

“Despite efforts to render some of us sans testicle.” Morgana's words were sugared razors. She strolled up to lean an elbow on Gwaine's shoulder. Merlin recognized the lazy feline grace and indolent posture that had made her a star. The line of her mouth distorted as her fangs slid out from beneath her plummy lipstick. Once out, she licked them and grinned.

“You like? Ten thousand. I was thinking of upgrading to diamond studded ones.”

Uther seethed for a moment, and Merlin thought for sure he was going to snap something at her. But, Morgana was only a momentary distraction. He discarded her from his focus, which made her snap and snarl, but Uther set his sights back on his son.

“Arthur. You will see these people escorted out. If Du Lac and Fisher insist on having the breeders, they will apply for pack admittance and take your scent on, but otherwise our pack will have no further association with them, or Professors Emrys and Green. And Miss Smith's guest.” It was an order, issued with cold precision. Merlin more felt than saw the impact it made on the group; an inhalation of disbelief. Perhaps not that Uther would want to discontinue any further affiliation, considering the fracas, but certainly that he would be so bald about it. Perhaps because he couldn't even call Morgana by name.

Merlin felt the weird urge to laugh again. It was as if they had cooties.

He didn't because Arthur spoke with a coolness to match his father's. “No.”

“No?” Uther echoed, clearly unused to being denied. “It was not a request, Arthur.”

“I know. But I will not follow it. I am pleased for Lance and Percy, and I'll celebrate their unions, whether or not Freya and Gwen join my pack. I count them all as friends, and more.” The words weren't snapped with the haste Arthur used during his debates with Merlin. There was more care here, and greater effort to be patient.

Uther stepped forward, cold disapproval radiating from him like the keen light refracted off glaciers. “Arthur, you will obey your Alpha. You have sworn to it!”

Merlin felt Arthur waver. A slight tremor.

On immediate instinct to fortify, Merlin reached out. He caught himself before he made contact with Arthur's hand where it lay clenched at his side, the knuckles pressed against the trousers of the ruined suit streaked with grass stains and cream patisserie.

Merlin took a soft fortifying breath. He lifted a clammy hand, then dropped it. He lifted it again.

He let the backs of his fingertips just graze the side of Arthur's hand, thumb brushing the wrist.

Arthur's pinky finger unclenched and caught the tip of Merlin's thumb in a swift motion. Arthur's skin was damp with sweat, but the strength of the hold surprised Merlin. For a moment they were linked by two digits. Through that tiny bridge Merlin tried to send encouragement, strength and calm, as if the mere touching of skin could act as a conduit and fortify Arthur.

Then Arthur let go, squared his shoulders and spoke.

“An alpha protects, and I've told myself that's what you've always done, what you've always wanted to do. Protect people and do the best for them.”

“I am protecting us now, Arthur.” Uther spoke to him as if Arthur were an exceptionally stupid child.

Arthur shook his head regretfully. “I think you're protecting yourself.”

“What has all this been for, if not for you and your pack?” The senator gestured widely, but Merlin didn't know if he just meant the party, or something larger.

“But it's not for me, or the pack. It's for the pack name, for the connections, but not for the people in our pack. Not for their well-being,” Arthur shot back.

“I am preserving a legacy for you to inherit. Part of being Grand Alpha is making difficult decisions, and it is something you had best learn to do. Consider everything I have done for you, Arthur, and you dare accuse me of such selfishness?” Uther looked somewhat affronted.

Merlin could feel Arthur's indecision again, but he remained firm. “Maybe you've tried to do right by me. I don't know. But you didn't do right by Anna.”

Uther's eyes cut to Morgana. “What lies have you been told now?” he asked. It almost sounded bored. Morgana didn't miss the subtle jab that she'd told so many lies it ceased to be shocking, because Merlin heard her soft inhale take on a cynical rumble in the back of her throat.

Arthur just stared levelly at his father. “It took some digging, but we found the clinic and record of the non-refundable down payment.”

Merlin recalled seeing Arthur and Percival in serious conference, before Percival had been introduced to them and scented Freya and everything went to hell in a hand basket. Percival wasn't supposed to be at the party; was this what he had discovered which sent him rushing home?

The statement made Uther pause, but only for a moment. Then he made a dismissive gesture. “Fabricated evidence in support of a ludicrous story. Not that it matters. Who would ever believe some disbarred South American trash?”

Arthur croaked a sound like a laugh, but bereft of any humor. “I didn't say where it was.” Even Merlin could hear the regret, as if Arthur had still been hoping it was somehow a mistake. He probably had. Merlin almost reached for Arthur again, but the cut of his shoulders was tense. He'd be more likely to see Merlin's support as pity.

Uther halted, wrong-footed after his slip.

“Oops,” Morgana said. “He's gotcha there, Daddy.” The words dripped with gleeful venom.

In Uther's fluster he seemed to have forgotten he was meant to be ignoring Morgana. “I don't know what you're talking about.” He snapped.

Morgana rolled her eyes. “Oh, come off it. I think everyone in this room has put together that you're my father, and now Arthur knows you tried to have me sexually altered against my will. And withheld my inheritance, let's not forget that. Welcome to the family, Gwen, Freya.”

Morgana's words had barely finished skipping off her lips with cutting intent before everyone was in motion. Temper cresting, Uther surged towards Morgana, his fangs elongating fully. Merlin knew in his gut that Uther was going to subdue her before she could say anything more.

Morgana clearly knew it too, for she bared her teeth in a dreadful grimace of welcome, her arms open, inviting Uther to come at her.

Before the senator could reach her, Arthur lunged between them. Uther loomed up when faced with his son, trying to intimidate him aside. When Arthur didn't move an inch, the senator made a slashing gesture to move Arthur aside. This inspired a guttural sound of angry prompting from Uther, which became one of clear threat. Arthur responded with a warning of his own, still rooted to the spot. The two of them filled the room with raspy snarls of menace and violence that were the hallmark of alphas gauging whose will was superior, and if each was willing to fight.

Merlin could see what was going on very clearly, though; By placing himself between Uther and Morgana, putting a halt to the intended violence, Arthur had claimed Morgana as his to protect. It was further complicated because Uther was Arthur's alpha, and the intervention meant going against his superior. What Arthur had done was issue a challenge to the core of their pack hierarchy. Father faced son, and while some poets might romanticize the primitive ferocity that was passing the Grand Alpha torch, it made something sick fill Merlin. Fathers shouldn't view their sons as competition. They weren't animals, for heaven's sake! Fathers and sons should throw footballs or make kites or have semi-awkward conversations about the birds and the bees, or whatever else it was father figures did. Merlin wasn't an authority on it, having grown up without one, but he knew it was not this.

The others were pointedly silent, but for Mithian, who whined in high pitched distress. Creeping under the caustic notes of alpha anger was the unmasked smell of her fear, like spoiled fruit.

They all simply watched. Merlin didn't know if his friends accepted it as Pendragon business, and Pack Pendragon accepted it as the natural order of things, but whatever quarrel Arthur had with Uther, it shouldn't be resolved this way. This wasn't even resolution. It was simple violence, leading Arthur to battle his own father.

Had Merlin done this, somehow? In the dozens of conversations he and Arthur had had about gender and equality and sexism, had he motivated this action? There was the inescapable truth that Merlin blamed Uther absolutely for some of Arthur's backwards thinking, and maybe even for the notion that he had a right to bite Merlin simply because Merlin was his omega. However, Merlin had only ever wanted Arthur to stop and think outside the hierarchy; not to perform one of the most basic transfers of power inside it. Arthur deposing Uther was not a victory Merlin wanted to claim.

In a burst, he stepped forward, just beyond Gwaine's reach. “Arthur, don't. Not like this.”

“Keep back, Merlin,” Arthur ordered. He didn't break his gaze from his father.

Merlin took one step nearer, hands outstretched. “No, you cannot do this. He's done horrible things, but don't let him turn you into this. Don't perpetuate the cycle. I know you have it in you to be better than him.”

“You have no place to interrupt two alphas; be silent or I will silence you!” Uther broke his stare-off with Arthur to bark at Merlin, and flash his fangs in obvious intent.

Arthur's reaction was automatic and immediate. He was between the senator and Merlin, actually biting at his father. The senator dodged easily, as the snapping jaws were clearly intended to push him back rather than strike true. Uther looked a little surprised at the vehemence of the response, but was given no time to contemplate it.

Arthur had just moved before him when Merlin was surprised by strong hands grasping his shoulders, dragging him back. It was Gwaine and Leon, each with a hand on him to pull him behind them.

Some combination of Leon's action and Arthur's fervor lit something sharp in Uther's eyes. They settled on Merlin fully this time. Merlin could actually feel the senator's eyes raking over what little of his body could be seen behind Gwaine and Leon, who had resolved into a firm wall. Merlin smelled Gwen tucking at his back, so he was surrounded on all sides in a matter of moments. Still, he felt as if Uther were scanning him like some invasive TSA machine.

Clearly unimpressed with what he saw, the senator turned his attention returned to Arthur. “What is this?”

“Leave Merlin out of this.” Arthur said with great finality.

“Merlin,” Uther clearly didn't like the way Arthur said his name. “You've proven yourself unnaturally attached to him, of late.” The words were slow, contemplative, but there was something nasty under it.

“It's nothing – “ Merlin began to protest, but got an elbow in the stomach for his trouble.

Gwaine shot him a look over his shoulder. “Hush,” he glanced at Leon. “He's not fucking about, is he?”

Leon gave a somber shake of his head.

“Is this what you call a friend, Arthur? This sacrilegious, lying, unnatural, upstart beta? He isn't your equal.”

“I think I believed that, once.” Arthur said. “But now, I'd be honored to be called his friend.” Arthur's eyes finally left Uther and found Merlin. The look wasn't imploring, Arthur had more pride than that. Yet, there was something soft in it.

Merlin swallowed, unable to withdraw his gaze from Arthur's cerulean blue eyes. He was vaguely aware of Uther looking at them with a wrinkled brow, but it didn't merit as much attention as the complicated play of emotions flickering around Arthur's face. Merlin tried to catch them all, and ask himself what each one meant, and why Arthur felt it, and how, in turn, Merlin felt about the feelings overload he'd given Arthur Pendragon. His own feelings had gone confusing and contradictory, cryptic and inconvenient.

Merlin was torn from his contemplation when Uther gave a dark sound of denial. The senator's expression had transmuted into one of revolted horror as he looked from one to the other.

“No. No! My son will not be a faggot!” Uther thundered.

“What?” Merlin's mouth worked before his brain did.

“What? – No– Father, you don't understand. It isn't like that at all – I – we – he – Merlin and I, we're – uh, there isn't a Merlin and I, but if there were – ” Arthur sputtered, gesturing between himself and Merlin.

Uther was having none of it, and continued to look at his so as if he were covered in a virulent queer contagion that needed stamping out. “Don't lie to me, boy. I can tell when you want to fuck someone! I won't stand for this!”

This time it was Merlin who rolled his eyes in disgust. “Not that Arthur is gay, but if he was, there would be nothing wrong with that!” Uther clearly wasn't in the mood to listen, but Merlin simply couldn't leave it unsaid.

Unfortunately, it drew Uther's attention back to Merlin.

“You did this.” Furious eyes centered on Merlin. They bled pure hatred.

In a jerk of movement the senator was on the move again, but this time his target was Merlin. Despite Leon and Gwaine standing guard, Uther came at them. He roared as he did, a barreling train of rage, fangs out. Leon and Gwaine braced for impact and suddenly Percy was looming over Merlin.

But before the senator could hit, Morgana sidestepped in. She swung the ewer down in a graceful arc as Uther plowed past her like an angry bull. The jade thudded, a meaty sound against his skull, then cracked.

Uther went down like a rhinoceros.

Everyone stared at him in fresh shock, then at Morgana, who was still holding the broken handle.

She tossed the handle down on the inert form of her father. “Oh, stop that, he's not going to have me arrested for assault,” she said to everyone's horrified expression. “Besides, self-defense and all that.”

“Is he dead?” Freya whispered. She was peeking out from behind Percy.

“He can't be! Grand Alpha!” Mithian cried and rushed to the senator's side. She dropped to her knees and delicately laid two fingers at the senator's neck. Her shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank goodness.”

“Fucking Christ,” Gwaine said on a sigh.

Merlin couldn't move. He could barely breathe. Mithian was one thing, but this was a darker level of violence. Seeing the senator laid low, bedecked in green shards made part of Merlin's mind slip deep inside, and the outside world go waxy and indistinct. Except Arthur's face. That was strangely clear, and Merlin found himself watching Arthur stare at his father.

They might really be in trouble, now. Witnesses to a crime. A police investigation and trial would mean the entire story would come out, and everyone he'd ever known would hear the story of how Morgana le Fey attacked her father, the senator, to prevent him attacking his son, Arthur Pendragon's truemate.

And Merlin had taken Arthur's hand to help all this happen.

Was he crazy? Those manicured hands were responsible for holding him down, for grabbing him so Arthur could sink his teeth home. Those hands had gone from ardent caresses to forcing Merlin onto his knees in a few moments. Those were not hands Merlin should take. Those where not hands Merlin should want to lend strength to. Those hands belonged to a man who had frightened him, who had violated him.

So why had Merlin wanted to reach out and touch one? Why did he want to do it again?

Was he damaged? Did having a one, true alpha equal to accepting whatever that alpha did to you, and being incapable of turning them aside? Unable to hate? Because in this moment, Merlin realized he didn't hate Arthur. He wanted to. Some part of him even felt he should. He should hate Arthur for violating him.

Maybe this was some hitherto unknown psychological phenomenon that only occurred between those who had the _unumverumconjunx_? Like Stockholm Syndrome, only not. Something that made Merlin incapable of washing his hands of Arthur. Something that made him wonder if maybe things could be better. That, maybe, maybe, someday …

But, did people change? Really and truly change?

And would he ever stop being afraid?

The idea of simply taking Arthur's hand was frightening. To renew contact of flesh last experienced when Merlin had shoved Arthur out his front door, quivering with rage and covered with aquarichor, had taken more courage than such a simple gesture would seem to imply. To want to touch hands that had hurt him seemed stupid. Like he should know better. He was a professor. Did he really want to be one of those professional people who went on and on about their field, yet became blind and dumb when it actually applied to their own lives?

And what did Arthur think of his gesture? It wasn't forgiveness, but Arthur might take it as such. Arthur might think all the fences were mended, and they could just continue on. He might think Merlin had gotten over it, just like that. He might think it was a promise to work things out, a truce. He might think that he could hurt Merlin as many times as he wanted and be forgiven for it on each occasion.

And yet Merlin still wanted to take Arthur's hand.

Maybe he was damaged.

But he'd decided he wasn't going to let Arthur frighten him, hadn't he?

Oh, he was still angry, wounded and wronged, but something about Arthur standing alone against Uther had roused a feeling of refusal deep in Merlin's gut. Even with Leon, Lance, Percival and even Mithian and Morgana standing close by, some part of Arthur had been alone, and was alone now. The lone alpha in charge, the leader, the Alpha. They clearly expected Arthur to speak for them, Gwen and Freya being held close to their respective beaus from pack Pendragon. Perhaps they trusted Arthur to speak for them, to keep their best interests in mind in the face of the senator, so they were silent to keep from muddying the waters. Hadn't Lance said something of the kind earlier? He must have had trust and faith in Arthur, if he was still here, if he was quiet after his initial protest.

But it still left Arthur standing alone. It still left Arthur feeling that all these people were relying on him. It was a lot of pressure for one person to bear. A lot of pressure against Uther, who was undoubtedly the most influential person in Arthur's life, the niggardly guardian of all parental affection, and a juggernaut of will that Arthur had spent his life bending too.

So Merlin, with that one linked thumb, had given him everything he had. He hadn't wanted Arthur to feel he had to take on that opponent alone. He hadn't wanted Arthur to bend.

Now he wanted Arthur's hand to know that he himself would not bend.

“Are you all right?” Gwen checked with Merlin. Her words cut through the circles his mind raced in. He blinked hard, then nodded.

“You're not safe here. We have to go,” Arthur ordered, drawing everyone's attention back in as he looked up from the senator's prone form. “Percival, call Ida, have her fetch Gaius to look after my father. Gwaine, get Merlin out of here. Leon, get everything we are legally entitled to in this house. Gwen, call your father, tell him to leave discreetly. Leon, you go with Gwen and Freya, help them collect their belongings. Everyone needs to be off the property in five minutes.”

“Shouldn't you subdue him?” Leon nodded to the senator. “It would buy us time.”

Arthur looked at Leon for a long moment, then at Merlin. “No.”

“Arthur, what about me?” Mithian asked timidly.

Arthur looked at her a long moment. “I don't know, Mithian. What _about_ you?”

Mithian opened her mouth, then closed it. She sighed, and rested hand on Uther's shoulder gently. “I don't know. But you can't leave the Grand Alpha like this. What if he's seriously hurt?”

Arthur looked down at his father's prone figure dully. Merlin could actually see Arthur weighing the safety of his pack, the duties of an alpha, and his quarrel with his father with the obligations of a son and demi-alpha. He also knew Arthur's decision before he raised his eyes to Merlin.

“I have to make sure he's okay,” Arthur said.

“He's your father.” Merlin agreed.

Arthur looked like he wanted to add something, searching Merlin's face for a clue or sign. He must not have found it as, he only nodded and turned to Leon.

“Whatever happens, protect Merlin.”

Leon nodded.

“He's not your mate,” Mithian pointed out, desperation warbling the ends of her words.

“No. He's not,” Arthur agreed. He found Merlin's eyes once more. “But I'm his.”

Merlin's heart thudded.

“Now go,” Arthur ordered.

They scattered.

ᴥ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, go nuts in the comments. I don't need to tell you to be respectful of each other, as you always are. I won't chime in, unless you ask me something directly.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the appendix for anything that seemed confusing or unclear.
> 
> Love to hear your thoughts, if you have them.


End file.
